


Tanabata Jasmine

by Nekotsuki



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kidnapping, Pre-Jinchuu Arc, Psychology-Ryu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 73,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekotsuki/pseuds/Nekotsuki
Summary: It starts with a friendly duel and escalates from there.  When Kenshin's distraction on Tanabata lands him in deep trouble, will his friends be able to help him?(I mean, yeah.  Obviously.)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 29





	1. A Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first published fanfic and was begun all the way back in 2004. I'm leaving it largely untouched, but I *am* sneaking in to remove some of this terrible fangirl Japanese... so uh yeah. Excuse the roughness, I do warm up.
> 
> Chapters begin very short and end up increasing as I got a feel for the whole writing thing. The whole story is 28 chapters + omake and is completely available over at ff dot net. I'll transfer it over here piece by piece when I have time.

Something Tae had said to him earlier, when he’d met her outside the inn, had prompted him to do it. _Why, Kenshin_ , she exclaimed with an arched eyebrow. _You do know what today is, don’t you? Surely you’re not going back to Kaoru-chan with just that tofu?_ Tanabata. She was teasing him, and he’d promptly flushed with his customary _oro_ … it was expected, after all. And yet… the comment stayed with him as he threaded his way through the crowd. He balanced the tofu bucket carefully along his forearm and smiled gently at the young child who stumbled across his path, putting a hand out to steady the boy as small hands tangled briefly with Kenshin’s hakama.

“Thank you.” The woman’s smooth voice made him look up again. “My son can be a handful, but at least you kept him free of the mud.”

She was probably around his age, he guessed; dark eyes in a worn face that smiled gratefully at him, even as she turned an admonishing look on the boy. “It is all right,” he replied cheerfully, rurouni lilt firmly in place as violet eyes dropped to the bundle she was carrying. It caught his interest. “May this one ask what that is you are carrying?”

“Hmm?” She raised an eyebrow, and then smiled as she looked down. “The flower?”

Not just a flower. He held a hand out to take it from her as she proffered it. It carried no fresh scent of the garden, but rather an applied, perfumed sweetness. “Jasmine,” he muttered softly, and thought of Kaoru. The petals were delicate as always, but were an artifice, shaped and ruffled from white silk. The long, green stem was carved from bamboo. “Truly, a blossom that will last. Did you make this?”

“Not I,” she laughed, and plucked it from his willing fingers. “There is a merchant, further upon the road leading away from the markets. He is selling them, rather cheaply I thought. But who am I to complain? I suppose it is just for today.”

_You do know what today is, don’t you?_ Kenshin smiled ruefully as Tae’s teasing voice echoed in his mind. He nodded his head as the woman took her wayward son by the hand and – with a harried farewell – vanished into the crowds of the marketplace.

Tanabata.

He glanced at the tofu in his hands and sighed. _Just this once, I will give in to temptation._

Decision made, he turned in the direction the woman had pointed, and walked with a deliberate tread, looking for a particular merchant.

“Him?”

“None other.”

There was silence again. From the far edge of the marketplace, close to the Akabeko, two men stared after the rurouni in his maroon gi. Subtly, silently, Himura Kenshin was watched.

The merchant had distanced himself from the bustle of the marketplace, the sounds of the crowd faint as Kenshin finally spotted him. He was, in point of fact, nestled on the path leading back to the Kamiya dojo. Perhaps Tae had suggested the merchant plant himself in the only path Himura Kenshin would take home. _And now, you’ve got yourself thinking the local merchants are plotting behind your back to play matchmaker,_ he scolded himself inwardly.

He studied the merchant a moment before approaching him. Short, tidy dark hair and narrow eyes that reminded him of Saitou. Yet this man smiled lightly at the passersby and spoke swiftly to them of his wares, putting his potential customers at ease. He was slender for a merchant, and totally unfamiliar. A traveler, then, here for the festival. Certainly, he had no plans to set up a regular stall; the man sat cross-legged on the side of the street, a square of dark silk folded in front of him, and on this silk lay the last of his wares for the day; three of the same beautifully crafted flowers he had seen earlier.

He hesitated a moment more, and then crossed the street almost shyly. He intended to keep his relationship with Kaoru strictly platonic, despite the way feelings ran between them. He was too old for her, he was too stained. He knew she wouldn’t care, but _he_ did. And… he had too many enemies. She was targeted enough on his behalf without her being openly known as the Battousai’s woman. It was safer for her if he didn’t show her his care.

And yet, for all his platonic intentions, here he was at a street vendor to buy her a silken flower. _I’ve never seen craftwork like it before,_ his mind insisted stubbornly. _It would be a shame to pass it by. It is a gift to brighten her home, nothing more._

“You’re not used to this, are you?”

“Oro?” Kenshin blinked, startled out of his reverie. The merchant grinned up at him with a knowing look.

“Oro, yourself. You’re blushing like a teenage boy. Does she know you love her?”

_Was_ he blushing? The thought made him flush more. “This one thinks you may be a little too forward,” he said politely.

“Yes, well, _this one_ can think that if he likes.” Kenshin’s eyes narrowed. Was the merchant mocking him? He stared at him, catlike, until the man held up both his hands in surrender. “Ah, sorry, sorry. I did not wish to try your temper. Sometimes,” he smiled lopsidedly, “My words run away from me.”

Kenshin suddenly felt guilty. Flustered or no, for him to take sudden temper out on a stranger was unlike him. He shook his head slightly. “It’s all right. This one, ah... _hasn’t_ done this before. But… this one is only interested in buying for a friend. How much?”

“Friend, eh?”

Kenshin didn’t answer. His attention had been caught by the merchant’s upturned hands. The palms and fingers were calloused. He frowned slightly, his gaze traveling down to the ground, to see a shinai placed on the ground behind the sitting man.

“I travel alone,” the man said, following his gaze. “I must defend myself, ne?”

Kenshin smiled. “True.” And from what he could read of the man’s ki, he was at least competent with his weapon. “Now. How much for one of your flowers?”

“They aren’t cheap. Alas, I doubt you could afford one.”

Kenshin was beginning to grow annoyed despite himself. What kind of merchant insulted a customer, even one he suspected of being poor? “This one can assure you he will afford your price, Mr…?”

The merchant grinned again in appreciation. “Senzo Karanai. Sorry again. I do not wish to insult you. But for you, I am afraid, my price would not be measured in coin.”

Not measured--? Kenshin raised an eyebrow. “The only other thing this one has for barter is this tofu, Senzo-san,” he said dryly.

“Not true!” Senzo raised a finger. “There is something else that I would accept from only you.”

“Oh?”

The finger thrust upward, pointing at his chest.

“A duel.”


	2. A Challenge

Strange, how it always seemed to come back to fighting.

Kenshin stared at the merchant in disbelief. Did he hear correctly? The skill of the man was nowhere _near_ his level. He smiled sweetly and ran a hand through his hair, taking refuge in the rurouni façade. “Maa, maa! This one carries his sword for self defence only. This one would not duel over a flower, even ones as exquisite as these.”

“I don’t ask the rurouni,” Senzo said with a faint smile, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I ask the hitokiri Battousai.”

He stiffened, and flicked his gaze up to passersby to see if the merchant had been overheard. True, some in Tokyo already knew of his identity… and there were those that could pick him from his exotic hair colouring, not to mention the scar. Still, the idea that Senzo Karanai had seen fit to blurt it, however quietly, on a public thoroughfare filled him with genuine irritation.

Nobody was paying undue attention to them. Just as softly, he replied. “I think not.” And then, after a pause, he flatly added: “What do you want from me?”

“Just a fight, and nothing more, Battousai.”

“Himura Kenshin, while we are here, if you please.”

Senzo gave a shrug. “As you wish. Himura-san…I am not an enemy, as such.”

“Then why do you challenge me?”

“I recognized you. Your appearance is well known in some circles, I’m sure you know. Quite a surprise, to run into you while selling my creations.”

Kenshin stared steadily at him.

After a moment, Senzo ducked his gaze and took up the ends of the silk before him, tying the three flowers artfully into a bouquet. He held them out with a flourish. “If you win, I will give you all three, Himura-san.”

There was a long pause as they stared at each other. Then, with a sigh, the sudden tension leaving his shoulders, Kenshin pushed the bouquet gently away. “This one will not fight you,” he replied, wearily. There was still confusion. Why would an average swordsman deliberately challenge him? Over _flowers_ , no less? “A sword is a weapon for serious battle. It should only be drawn when desperately needed. It is not to be flaunted. This one will not battle you for your wares, Senzo-san.”

Astonishingly, the merchant burst into laughter, drawing the curious gazes of those around him. Kenshin ground his teeth, and gazed down at the shinai impassively, silently willing any onlookers to lose interest and continue on. _It is Tanabata. Enjoy._ _There is nothing to see here._ His temper – fueled by nerves - had been on edge since he’d dropped past the Akabeko, and this man treating him like a fool was not helping.

The laughter subsided into chuckles, and then finally silence. Senzo wiped the tears from his eyes and reached behind him for the shinai, and rose to his feet, bamboo sword in one hand and bouquet in the other. Standing, he was several inches taller than Kenshin. _Wasn’t everyone?_

”Himura Kenshin-san.” The man’s face was sober now, and he had dropped his voice once again. “I do not wish to fight over the flowers.” He smiled wistfully. “It is for honour. Do you know the name Tadagawa Iyuchi?”

“…I’m afraid that I don’t,” murmured Kenshin after a moment.

“Ah. I was hoping you would. It would certainly mean I had to explain far less.” Senzo sighed, and then tilted his head to glance at Kenshin quizzically. “Himura-san, please. Walk with me a moment. I would rather not discuss this in such a public place.”

After a hesitation, Kenshin consented, and found himself with a bouquet in his arms as Senzo strapped the shinai over his shoulder. Jasmine assailed his senses again as he balanced the flowers awkwardly with the tofu bucket, and he smiled briefly as he followed the merchant onto quieter paths. It took him further away from the Kamiya dojo, but it could not be helped. He would just have to apologise to Kaoru for running so late. _Perhaps with flowers_ , he thought idly, and then twitched. The jasmine would get to him if he wasn’t careful.

“Tadagawa Iyuchi was my sister’s husband,” Senzo said soberly as they found themselves alone. The marketplace crowds could still be heard faintly in the background, but no-one was nearby to listen. “He joined with the Shinsengumi in his sixteenth year, but he never attained any worthwhile rank. Four months after he became a member, the Shinsengumi clashed in the street with… your faction.”

Kenshin winced. He knew where this was going.

“I understand, Himura-san, that it was a war. That there are casualties. That you were required to defend the men you were with. But I have been told my brother-in-law died to your blade. He left behind a widow two months pregnant with child. She miscarried shortly afterward.”

“Is she alive?” he asked quickly.

“My sister? Oh, yes. But it would be fair to say those incidents broke her spirit. She was shamed, Himura-san. And so… I swore to her that if I ever ran into you, I’d cross swords with you, for her honour.”

The worst part of the story was that the name rang no bells. There were those he’d killed in the later years of his service where he’d never found out the name of his victim; just another man to cry out and die in the dark streets of Kyoto. Kenshin closed his eyes for a moment. “It seems to this one that you are entitled to more than just crossing swords,” he said softly.

The answer surprised him. “A war is a war, Himura-san. I am wise enough to know it would never have been personal.” He smiled wryly. “I am also aware that – with my level of skill – my likelihood of winning would be terribly small. Give me this one chance to be able to tell my sister I challenged you. For your trouble, I will _give_ you that bouquet to take home to your… friend.”

“I… understand,” Kenshin replied softly. He wasn’t sure he _did_ understand. Surrealism washed over him. A victim from his past life, and Senzo Karanai had not cursed his name. In fact, the man seemed absurdly cheerful. “But the sakabatou versus your shinai would hardly be fair. This one will return home and borrow a shinai first.”

“No need,” Senzo replied swiftly. “I have boarding at a small cottage on the outskirts of Tokyo. If you’d care to walk with me, I can loan you my spare. It would hardly do for your lady friend to view that pretty present ahead of time, now.”

Still, he hesitated, staring at the bucket he still held. Kaoru would have expected him back with the tofu, by now. She would be angry with him for taking so long, he knew – but she would be worried if he came home, only to leave for battle shortly afterward. Even a battle as harmless as this one seemed.

“Himura-san?”

Kaoru’s anger was easier for him to live with than her concern for him. He glanced up, and smiled. “Lead the way.”


	3. Foreboding

Kamiya Kaoru glared at the chopping board and brought the knife down again, muttering. Yahiko watched her nervously from the door. There was a certain vicious streak to the way she was murdering the radishes that warned him not to open his mouth, much less insult her cooking the way he usually did. He could barely hear what she was saying; her voice was drowned out by the stabbing of the blade into the wood, over and over again.

He had picked out a few words – 'Kenshin', 'idiot' and 'late' being the most popular. Wincing as he tiptoed away from the kitchen, he slipped away from the house on his way to the dojo. "Kenshin," he muttered, "wherever you are, don't come back while she's holding that knife."

A voice came out of the gathering darkness. "What are you blathering about?"

 _Ack!_ He all but fell from the landing, and then turned around with a snarl on his face as he recognized the speaker. "Oi, Sanosuke! Quit doing that!"

"What?" The ex-gangster closed the gate behind him and sauntered through the yard, hands in pockets, white hanten in stark contrast with the gloom. "Can't I come by and say hello? Where's Kenshin?"

" _Where's Kenshin_?" Yahiko mimicked. "Pfft. You're just here to freeload!"

Sano grinned. "Hey, I'm here to see friends. What's a meal between friends? It's hospitable and all."

They stared at each other for a moment; the man grinning, the boy glaring. The silence was punctured by the steady _thunk_ of dying vegetables. They listened idly to the sound for a moment. Eerily, Kaoru's next sentence drifted quite clearly through the oncoming evening.

" _I'll give YOU 'oro'."_

They stared at each other in shock as a malicious cackle came from the kitchen. Yahiko almost laughed himself, watching Sano's face fall as he put two and two together.

"Kenshin's not here?"

"He went out for tofu ages ago," Yahiko snapped. "He hasn't come back. And that means Kaoru's cooking. And the way she's going, we're going to have our food full of splinters."

Sano glanced to the kitchen, then back to Yahiko with an odd look. "He's late today, of all days? No wonder she's steamed. But even Kenshin's not that clueless, surely." He hesitated. "Oh, well. If Jou-chan's cooking, I'd hate to put her out. I'll come back some other time."

Yahiko smirked nastily. "Whaddaya mean? You should stay. As you said, what's a meal between friends?"

"Don't be a wiseass," Sano said absently. "That's my job."

"Hah!"

"I'll go find him. Cooking aside, it's not like him to be late on a day like today. Tell Jou-chan I'll bring him back in a bit."

And with a casual backhand wave, Sano let himself out the way he'd come. Yahiko glowered after him. _Great. Leave me with the hard job._ In the silence, Kaoru's voice floated through the air once more.

"Kenshin no _baka_!"

\---------

The night had arrived in earnest by the time they reached their destination. The sky, overcast, gave no light bar the faintest shadow of the full moon behind the clouds. The breeze had picked up enough to flick his hakama constantly around his ankles, and the air seemed moist. Idly, Kenshin wondered if it would rain.

As if his thought had been heard, Senzo glanced at the sky. "I hope I don't inconvenience you by doing this, Himura-san," he said cheerfully. "I would hate for you to be drenched on your return home. I'll loan you a lantern to make your way back."

Indeed, the cottage could barely be picked out ahead. They were perhaps thirty minutes from the main streets of Tokyo, and had met nobody else on their journey. That didn't change the fact that there had been people following behind them. Kenshin had spotted them once. Alerted by his intuition, more than anything else, he'd glanced back and gazed into the trees lining the path. Two of them, moving quite stealthily through the bushes.

Their presence, their ki, did not seem particularly hostile. More… wary. And as darkness fell, he lost sight of them. Finally, as they caught sight of the cottage, their presence slipped away from his senses entirely.

 _Odd_. He supposed it was possible that the two men – both fighters, from the way they carried themselves, he was sure – were merely heading in the same direction for a different purpose. _More likely_ , he thought, _that they are thieves following a merchant in the hopes of robbing him, but perhaps a swordsman's presence deterred them. I will make sure they are gone before I leave here._ Senzo Karanai had seemed oblivious to their presence. With care, Kenshin decided, he would remain so.

Senzo fumbled at the door for a moment in the dark, and then swung it open with a creak. "Damn, but it's dark," he muttered. "Ah. Here we are." Light flared as he held aloft a candle, illuminating a small, one-room cottage cluttered with boxes and timber. A futon was folded and stashed rather haphazardly against the wall in one corner, and a larger piece of wood had been placed carefully across a crate as a table. Apart from that, there was no sign that the cottage was used as anything more than a storage shed.

"You live here?" Kenshin asked, confused.

"Ah, no," Senzo said cheerfully, lighting a second candle with the first and placing them both on the table. "I only pass through on occasion. The lady who owns this cottage is nice enough to allow me to stay here when I do. She has better lodgings in town, now. Apart from my presence, this place is rarely used. …Ah, you can leave your things on the table, if you'd like."

He nodded, and carefully lowered first the bouquet, then the tofu bucket, onto the wooden plank. _Some table this is_. "How long are you staying?"

"Well, that depends," said the merchant, crouching down by the futon. His fingers closed around a length of bamboo. "Once my business is done, I suppose. If all goes well, I could return to Kyoto tomorrow. Here, catch." He threw the shinai almost carelessly across the room. Kenshin snapped a hand out and caught it above the hilt. "Will you be able to fight in the dark?"

There was a lengthy, cold silence.

"Apologies," Senzo broke it at last, in a quiet, regretful voice. "I recognize your face, but should have remembered your history. Of course you can."

"It is all right," Kenshin said quietly. "But this one has people who will be worried about him, now. If it suits you, let us begin." He slid the sakabatou from his waistband and propped it against the wall by the door, then walked outside without a second glance.

Senzo's eyes lingered on the sword curiously for a moment. Was that trust?

No. Confidence.

Even arrogance.

He grinned again. "As you say, Kenshin."

A moment later, the cottage stood empty.

\---------

From where the man sat in the tree, the faint light emanating from the cottage could barely be seen. His keen eyes picked out the first man, then the second, to exit. They walked several feet in either direction, and then turned to face each other. Each held a shinai in hand.

Each combatant bowed to the other, then assumed fighting stance. The man thought he saw one – the merchant? – tap the edge of the shinai briefly to his forehead in salute. Then, with a cry, heard faintly from the treetop, he charged the ex-hitokiri.

"Are they fighting yet?"

He drew his gaze away from the ensuing battle and without replying, dropped from the branch to the ground, and rose from a crouch to face the newcomers. Two men lately engaged in following Himura Kenshin from the market.

"Yes," he said simply.

"And now?"

"Now, we wait. Battousai will win, shortly. After that… he will run. And we will strike."

"Are you sure he'll run?"

"Yes," he said again, lips curling back into a mocking smile. "He won't have any choice. Get the others."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why the two men didn't make Kenshin more suspicious I have one thing to say: you are so right they totally should have but I wrote this 16 years ago when I was trying to remember how to write, please just pretend he was super-distracted by Tanabata okok


	4. Costly Complacency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, here we go.

He remembered telling Kaoru, long ago. _I’m sorry, but I have no skill with the shinai at all._ He’d been staying at the Kamiya Dojo for all of a week, and she wanted a sparring partner. A few moments after his apology, crossing the bridge, Yahiko had picked his pocket deftly, only to have Kaoru tackle him. That meeting had led to a confrontation with yakuza members and a new student for the adjutant master, and thus Kaoru had not asked him to spar again, her hands full enough with Myoujin Yahiko.

True enough, the shinai was far from his chosen weapon, but that did not mean Kenshin was unskilled in its use. He smiled briefly, ruefully, in the darkness outside the cottage as he turned to face Senzo. _Forgive me, Kaoru-dono._

“Senzo-san,” he said aloud. “What are the terms of your challenge?”

“I have no desire for either of us to be beaten senseless,” the merchant replied mildly. “One stroke match – a tag to the head or shoulders. There is no need for blood to be spilled, ne?” He tapped the edge of the shinai to his forehead in irreverent salute.

They faced each other quietly a moment longer. Then, with an inarticulate cry, Senzo Karanai launched himself at his opponent. Despite the merchant’s aggressive speed, his overhead swing was easily read ahead of time; Kenshin swept his own shinai up horizontally in defense. There was a resounding _crack_ as the two weapons connected and locked above Kenshin’s head. He gritted his teeth; Senzo was stronger than he looked. Giving up on defense, he flicked his own weapon upright and down, scraping down the side of Senzo’s shinai to his wrist even as he pushed the weapon aside from its original target.

The merchant’s shinai whistled harmlessly down a hair’s breadth from Kenshin’s shoulder; then, predictably, Senzo withdrew before his counter, yanking his hands out of reach before the bamboo could connect with his wrist.

They grinned at each other, a warrior’s grin, flat and feral in the dark. _There is no animosity_ , Kenshin realized. _He’s enjoying this_. Strangely enough, so was he. It had been too long since he had been engaged in an honourable duel.

He waited, tip of the shinai down, watching the merchant carefully.

Senzo chuckled briefly. Then, this time silently, he swung again. The power behind his second attack had waned, and Kenshin batted it away with ease. So it went; he held his ground, using the shinai in defense only, observing his opponent’s style. Senzo had power and accuracy, but he overreached himself. Every time he completed his strike, the too-powerful swing of his shinai left him vulnerable to counterattack as he struggled to recover himself.

Kenshin refused to take the easy opening. He parried again and again, mind engaged in thought. _How to end this fight in a draw?_ Senzo deserved satisfaction for his sister’s sake, but his skill was far below Kenshin’s own. Perhaps if he allowed Senzo to disarm him—

Senzo stepped back, away from the fight. “Don’t, Himura-san.”

He blinked. “I'm sorry?”

“I may not have your predictive ability, but I can tell what you’re thinking,” the merchant said, tapping a finger to his forehead. “It isn’t fair. I can hardly tell my sister I fought for her honour under these circumstances.”

At Kenshin’s baffled look, he continued patiently. “Himura-san. I have challenged you for her sake. It is honour, skill against skill. If you insist on merely toying with me like this, to salvage my feelings, it is no fair fight at all. The only thing I could tell my sister is that you wouldn’t even meet my challenge as a man.”

_He’s … right._ Kenshin smiled again, ruefully. “I'm sorry, Senzo-san. Your words shame me. This time, this one will not hold back.”

“Better,” Senzo grunted. “Let us begin anew.” He took two steps forward and swung the shinai upward in a wide arc, a backhanded swing calculated to connect with the redhead’s jaw.

Kenshin snapped his weapon up, knocking the shinai away with force enough to jar Senzo’s grip. His second stroke completed the disarm, slamming just above the hilt. The shinai fell from his opponent’s nerveless fingers as Kenshin swung the tip of his sword upward in flawless form to kiss the hollow of the merchant’s throat.

There was silence, broken only by the clatter of Senzo’s discarded shinai as it landed on the ground nearby.

Then Kenshin ever so gently tapped his shinai to flesh. “Strike.”

Senzo blinked, then lifted a hand and pushed the weapon away with two fingers. “Match,” he said. And smiled. “Thank you.”

It began to rain.

\---------

_I saw him earlier today. He was heading home, but he might have decided to find something for Tanabata. I hope he did. It would be a wonderful surprise for Karou-chan!_

Tae’s words, when Sano stopped by the Akabeko to ask after Kenshin’s whereabouts. He made the mistake of delaying enough to eat a hot meal (on his tab, of course), and by the time he was done, the rain had come flooding down.

He’d sprinted for his next destination, despite the weather, despite Tae’s half-motherly attempts to keep him indoors. Kenshin’s absence was nagging at him. If it had been any other day than today, it wouldn’t have bothered him so much. But to vanish on Tanabata? Even Kenshin wasn’t _that_ clueless. Or callous, to abandon Kaoru on such an evening, despite his denials about their relationship.

_It’s probably nothing_ , he thought. _And it’s Kenshin. It’s not like he can be mugged._

But he wasn’t infallible. Kyoto, and Shishio Makoto, had proven that.

He thumped on the door to the Oguni Clinic, thoroughly sodden. “Oi, Megitsune! Lemme in, I’m drowning here!”

The door flew open, and a feminine hand latched onto his jacket and dragged him inside, slamming the door behind him. Megumi shoved him forward into the room. “Must you be so obnoxious?” she hissed. “I have a patient here. I hardly need you making a racket.” Then she took a closer look at him, and burst out laughing. Sano’s usually upstanding hair had taken the full brunt of the rain; it slicked down the sides of his face and into his eyes. Water trickled down the back of his hanten and pooled at his feet. “I like the new look. It’s very flattering.”

“Very funny,” he said through his teeth. “Mind if I dry off?”

She tossed him a cloth. “Here. I’d hate you to catch cold. More work for me. What do you want?”

“You’re all heart,” Sano said dryly. “You seen Kenshin today?”

\---------

They made it back into the shelter of the cottage before the rain truly started to hammer down. Kenshin looked outside with a glance somewhere between horror and amusement.

“You’re not going to make it back home while it’s like that.” Senzo said from behind him. “Not if you want that bouquet to remain in one piece.”

“Oro…”

There was a snort of amusement. “Himura-san, you can’t go against nature. Here, look.” Kenshin turned to find the other man holding up a jug. “To celebrate our duel, while we wait. Would you honour me with a drink of sake?”

Senzo Karanai was an odd man, Kenshin reflected. Upon the result of the match, and the ensuing rain, he had only grown more cheerful. In fact, the rain had seemed to fill him with positive satisfaction. _I suppose because it traps me here as a drinking partner_. He hesitated a moment, head tilted to the side as he considered the possibility. Hnh. Late, sodden and with sake on his breath. Kaoru would kill him. “This one really shouldn’t…” he trailed off. Senzo was already pouring for two, a bland look on his face.

“I insist,” said the merchant. “I’ve no intention of getting you drunk, or in trouble with your lady friend. Take the one drink with me to celebrate our meeting. It truly was a pleasure, Himura-san. I’d like to finish our meeting well.”

He had to smile. “The pleasure is mine. To meet a man who deals with past grievances in such a fashion… it is refreshing. You are an honourable man, Senzo-san.”

“Yes, well…” They knelt on either side of the table as Senzo placed the sake down. “Not truly, I’m sure. I’ve done some quite underhanded things in the name of business. I suppose that, to make amends, I am as honourable as I can be in other areas.”

Kenshin eyed him curiously for a moment, and then decided to let it slide. He pushed the tofu bucket and bouquet to the side to make room for the sake, and accepted the saucer. “Thank you.”

They drank in silence, listening to the drumming of the rain on the roof. While cluttered and dusty, the cottage at least seemed to hold out the deluge. Kenshin’s gaze wandered, falling onto the delicate, silken flowers in their bundle. He could still pick out their delicate fragrance amidst the dusty smells of the room. _Jasmine_.

Odd, where a desire to please Kaoru had taken him this day.

“Your creations are wonderfully made,” he said, breaking the long silence. “Have you been doing this long?”

“Years, now. They’re a side project, you know. I deal in silks for tailoring, usually, but inevitably I’ll have scraps left over. I don’t waste them.” Senzo shrugged. “Tanabata is the only day I will sell the flowers alone. They’re very popular.”

“This one can see why.” The sake was potent. He could feel the warmth settling over his chest. He resolved to refuse a second drink if it was offered.

“Your lady friend will like them a great deal, I’m sure. She’s just a friend, you said?” Senzo set his own drink down. “Perhaps the gift will encourage her to become more than that, hmm?”

If he’d been drinking at the time, he would have choked. “A-ah, no! Kaoru-dono shouldn’t be more than that. She should find someone her own age and be happy. She shouldn’t…” 

He trailed off, shutting his mouth. It _was_ potent sake. Babbling defensively to a man he’d only just met was unlike him.

Potent sake.

_Something is wrong._

“Shouldn’t what, Himura-san?”

He glanced up at Senzo, and noted with dread how the room seemed to blur at the edges, coming into focus only when he stayed still. The merchant was still smiling, but the cheer was gone from his face. Instead… a tinge of sadness, laced with regret.

_Very wrong._

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the edges of sudden vertigo. It was a mistake; the darkness in his mind threatened to drag him under. Eyes flaring open again, he dropped his gaze to the table to confirm his suspicions.

Senzo Karanai’s sake was untouched.

“Himura-san?”

They locked gazes for a moment, violet eyes to black. Betrayal. Acknowledgement of that betrayal.

_I’ve done some quite underhanded things in the name of business._

With a snarl, Kenshin locked a hand around the tofu bucket and flung it, contents and all, into the merchant’s face. He was not gentle. Senzo reeled backward with a yelp, holding his face as the bucket clattered to the ground, blood pouring from his nose.

By the time he cleared the tears from his eyes and could focus past the sting of his broken nose, Kenshin had vanished into the night, stopping long enough to snatch his sakabatou up from its resting place.

“I'm sorry, Himura-san,” Senzo said softly to the empty room. “I didn’t expect you to be so damn _likable_. But…business is business.” 

He glanced up to the figure that appeared in his now-open door, sodden in the downpour.

“He won’t get far,” he said. “Run him down.”


	5. A Desperate Gambit

“Perhaps he’s just tired of the tanuki girl’s violent ways,” Megumi said lightly. “He’s run off to some other woman, flowers in hand. _Oro! Save me from that sweaty woman!_ he’d say. I can see it now.”

Sano glowered at her from underneath the cloth draped on his damp head. He’d stopped dripping all over the clinic floor, at least. Megumi had thrust a mop into his hands and demanded he clean up after himself. “That’s uncalled for, kitsune. Aren’t you the least bit worried?”

“No,” she said shortly. “Market only closed two hours ago. Tae saw him just before that, you say? It’s a little too soon to assume the worst. Ken-san’s a big boy. Anyone would think you were his mother.”

He bit down (wonder of all wonders) on the scathing retort that rose to mind as she turned away from him. Her words, light and scornful, were at odds with the tense set of her shoulders as she opened the door to the adjoining room and stepped through. A moment later, she was speaking to someone else. The aforementioned patient, he assumed.

She was right, he supposed. Anything could have delayed Kenshin for a mere two hours. For all Sano knew, he could be helping some elderly woman get home in the rain.

Still … for Jou-chan’s peace of mind, at least, he would find out where the rurouni had vanished to. He flipped the cloth, now soaked through, over the bench and headed for the exit.

“Sanosuke.”

He turned. Megumi stood framed in the doorway, an umbrella in hand. “If you’re going to keep looking for him, take this. There’s no point drying off if you’re just going to get wet again.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Can’t give you extra work, eh?”

“Just take it!” she snapped, throwing it across the room. Before he could think of a witty rejoinder, she turned with a flick of her long hair and vanished from the room again.

_Che!_ He flung open the door to the outside world and stepped back into the pouring rain, swinging the umbrella up over his head. _Thanks, you stubborn woman._

Two places down. He wondered where to search next.

\---------

The rain had long since plastered Kenshin’s gi to his flesh. In one way, it was a blessing; the steady, cool beat of water sluicing over skin helped to keep him from sliding further under the influence of whatever Senzo had poisoned him with.

In many other ways, however, it was a hindrance. The path he had traveled to the cottage had long since been beaten into mud, and the teeming rain only served to cut what meager light there was to see by into almost nothing. He could barely see a few inches in front of his face. Twice now, he had fallen, sliding on treacherous footing and lacking the reflexes to stop himself from crashing to the ground.

The vertigo was getting worse, and he was only human. He kept a death grip on the sakabatou, and allowed the stirrings of anger within him to fuel his staggering run toward the city.

_Why?_

It had taken half an hour to walk a leisurely pace to Senzo’s cottage. In the dark, in the rain, his senses slowly deserting him, the most he could be sure of was that he was heading in the right direction.

_Why go to all this effort?_

With the full benefit of hindsight, his mind raked over his meeting with the merchant. How he had been waiting, on the path to the Kamiya dojo. How easily he had used Kenshin’s distraction over Kaoru to his benefit. How he had been drawn from the main streets of Tokyo on the twin threads of guilt and compassion, so he could be poisoned without fuss or witnesses.

_What did he do to me?_

His first reaction had been flight; in unfamiliar territory, blood moving sluggishly in his veins, his only desire, to find his way back to Kaoru. The plot had been well thought out, and possibly not solely aimed at him; he was afraid for her safety. Now, as he moved, he thought more logically. He would be of no good to anyone like this. Best to go to Oguni Clinic and seek help from Megumi—

He tripped again, this time over his own feet, and sprawled headlong into the mud. Filthy water invaded his mouth and he rolled onto his side, coughing. His vision swam, blurred and then darkened. He spat curses with the dirt and reeled upright once more, supported by the sakabatou.

He wasn’t going to make it back.

Considering this ominous knowledge, he focused his half-blinded gaze onto whitened knuckles until his vision began to clear. And he cursed again. Now, pausing to center himself in the rain, he could feel them; shadows at the edge of his senses, hunting him through the trees. Four, maybe five men, spread on either side of him. They were keeping their distance, and he was puzzled as to why.

He jerked the sheathed sakabatou out of the mud and stood there another moment, listening with dread to the sound of his own laboured breathing. Then he forced himself onward, reeling on his feet, waiting for an attack that never came. He was aware of their movement; they were keeping pace with him, nothing more.

_They don’t want to fight. They’re waiting for me to fall._

Fury sparked within him - at their cowardice, at his own stupidity for not recognizing the jaws of a trap sooner. And yet… the fact that he was followed at all told him that whatever Senzo had given him was probably not fatal. Not if the merchant felt the need to send men after him in the rain.

_Will you be able to fight in the dark?_

“Always,” he whispered.

\---------

The ex-hitokiri had fallen three times, so far.

Stalking him from a careful distance, Yoshida silently, grudgingly applauded him each time he rose to his feet and staggered on. It was an impressive show of will, to fight the effects of the merchant’s sake for so long. Nevertheless, it was a battle Himura Kenshin was losing. Each time he fell, he took longer to recover himself. Yoshida would be surprised if the man could still see, let alone fight.

The group kept steady pace with their prey. The Battousai’s reputation for deadliness enforced their patience. Provided he did not manage to struggle his way into town, there would be no need for conflict at all.

He jerked to full attention as Kenshin suddenly swayed on his feet and braced himself against the trunk of a nearby tree. Then, with a sigh, the ex-hitokiri collapsed, sliding down the bark to rest on his knees. He did not rise again.

It was time, then.

Yoshida stepped forward, making his way across the rain-drenched ground. His men followed suit. As the circle of five closed around the fallen man, his eyes traveled across the red hair, heavy with moisture and hanging in thick, mud-streaked strands across a pale, dirty face. His arms were slack against his side, one hand folded into his lap, the other still clutching the sakabatou.

Still clutching--?

He tried to call a warning, but even then it was too late. The blade flashed free of its sheath. With a full-throated scream of anger, Himura Kenshin launched to his feet, swinging the unleashed sword up into a spiraling arc as he did so. The strike connected with a startled man’s exposed throat; with a retching sound, the man was sent sprawling into the mud.

Kenshin braced himself against the tree and gripped the sakabatou with both hands, tip pointed at Yoshida’s chest. His eyes were unfocused, and he was breathing heavily, but his aim was unerring.

“Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu,” he hissed through the rain, “ _Ryu Kan Sen_. If you want my life, suffer the consequences.”


	6. Last Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, mooks... gotta love em.

He was mostly blind, vision driven away by fatigue. The remaining four men closing on him were blurred shadows in the rain. Braced against the tree, relying on his own inner senses, Kenshin thrust the sakabatou in the direction of the largest threat he could perceive.

“Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu,” he hissed, “ _Ryu Kan Sen_. If you want my life, suffer the consequences.”

Having uttered his challenge, he launched himself sideways. His double-handed strike slammed into the ribcage of an enemy with all the force he could muster. He had the advantage of surprise, at least; not expecting his collapse to be faked, his pursuers were only now drawing their weapons. The scrape of swords leaving sheaths jarred against his hearing. He landed on his feet, slid in the mud, and spun to face them.

His first strike, his ambush, had incapacitated one enemy. His second? The man whose ribs he had broken crumpled to the ground, face a mask of agony.

Two down, three remaining.

The easiest way to fight multiple opponents was to engage them one on one; separate them where possible, turn and strike. Wasn’t that what he had taught Yahiko? But the strategy was impossible, here. All these swordsmen had to do was wait him out. His only option was to launch an all-out aggressive attack, in the hopes they would fall before his strength gave out. If he could do that – if he could manage that – he had a slim chance of avoiding their trap entirely.

He blinked water from his eyes, and realised he was on his knees. _When did that happen?_ A snarl of hatred above his head warned him, and he swung the sakabatou up to meet the blade whistling toward his neck. The jolt shook his arms and nearly took the blade out of his hands, and his eyes widened with dismay. He no longer had the strength to stop it.

_“Alive!”_

And then the weight bearing down on him was gone, leaving him to fall backward into the muck. Gathering the tattered threads of his concentration, he rolled and staggered to his feet once more, furious with himself. He’d lost precious seconds of time, fading between awareness and sleep.

Before him, the reason for his reprieve was apparent. The large one – the one he’d challenged – had grabbed his attacker by the sword arm and flung him aside into the mud. A lethal attack averted, and a warning given.

“Who cares about ‘alive’, Yoshida? He killed Hiro!”

“He did no such thing,” the one called Yoshida said flatly, turning to face Kenshin, sheathing his sword. “This man has sworn an oath not to kill. He will not break it for the likes of us.”

Kenshin stared back at him levelly, bringing his own sword up to guard. The one on the ground glared pure hatred at him, as Yoshida stepped forward. Two targets. He would deal with Yoshida first. The third—

Where was the third man?

Almost too late, he recognised the distraction for what it was. He dodged left and backhanded his third opponent in the face with the hilt of the sakabatou then pivoted on his heel and swung with the sheath. Iron slammed into the man’s midsection, and he crumpled, cord dropping uselessly from his grip. Kenshin staggered backward to lean against a tree, gasping for breath. Three down, and they definitely wanted him alive. Treating him with kid gloves – there _had_ to be an advantage in that—

“Very good,” Yoshida said softly, taking another step forward. His hand had moved away from his sword and into his gi. “But you can barely see, can you?”

Kenshin clenched his teeth and swung the sword up once again to face him. Yoshida stopped in his tracks, studying him for a brief moment. Then, fluidly, he swept his hand out from his gi, fingers splayed in a movement Kenshin’s blurred vision couldn’t follow. Reflexively, he jerked his head aside.

The first kunai missed, sinking into the bark behind him. The second nicked his ear and continued on, slicing through the leather tie in his hair. The third cut across his left shoulder and through the back of his gi, pinning him to the tree. He slipped in the mud with a hiss of pain, trying to find his balance again as he brought the sakabatou up in a desperate attempt to defend himself against an attack he couldn’t see.

A figure reared up before him, sword held high; the second man, forgotten, who had already tried to kill him once. He barely registered Yoshida’s yell of fury before the blade flashed down, biting through his shoulder and into bone. Truthfully, he started to fade into darkness before he felt the pain. His last reserves of strength had finally given out.

In the darkness and the pouring rain, Himura Kenshin fell.

\---------

At the gambling houses, Sanosuke found an answer. It wasn’t one he was expecting.

“Oh, yeah!” The witness in question was a regular. Grinning like an idiot, and drunk. “I saw Himura. He was heading out east of Tokyo. I’m sure he’ll be back in the morning when he’s done.”

“Done doing what?” Sano raised an eyebrow. _East? Where the hell is he going?_

“He had a bunch of flowers. It’s Tanabata night. Do I have to spell it out?”

_You have got to be joking._ “Thanks a bunch,” he said sourly. Not that he thought for a moment that Kenshin had some chick besides Kaoru he was wooing… Sano had enough faith in his friend to believe there’d be a logical explanation. But this guy was the first he had spoken to who’d seen the rurouni outside of the market place. “Was he with anyone?”

“Some guy, I think.”

He made a noncommittal grunt and stepped back out into the rain. If Kenshin had headed out of Tokyo, he wouldn’t have a hope in hell of finding him, particularly in this weather. _Besides, maybe he’s made it back to Jou-chan’s by now._

The streets were near empty now, flooded in parts. He stalked his way through the puddles gracelessly on his way back to the dojo, wondering whether he should tell Kaoru the rumour of Kenshin and the flowers. She was bound to take it badly. _I can’t help that. And if he isn’t back by morning, then I’ll head out after him._

He stopped short, several feet from the dojo, and sighed. Outside the gate, a woman stood, an umbrella similar to his own. It had been hours. Kaoru’s irritation had obviously given way to worry.

“Oi,” he said softly. “You’ll catch a cold out here. Why don’t you wait inside where it’s warm?”

“You’re being too nice,” she said, sharply. “What have you heard that you don’t want to tell me?”

She was bright, this one. He moved the last few steps to her side and smiled crookedly, then reached over her shoulder and pushed the gate open, ushering her in. Better just to tell the truth, he supposed. “There’s a rumour, but that’s all it is. Kenshin was seen leaving by the eastern road.” He held his breath, waiting for her reaction. A tantrum. A crying fit.

Instead, she said quietly, “It’s getting late. Stay here the night, Sanosuke. I’ll help you look in the morning, okay?”

He glanced at her in surprise. Her face was calm, although her blue eyes were etched tight with concern. Stupidly, he asked her, “You’re not worried that he’s left?”

“After Kyoto? No. Besides,” and Kaoru laughed shortly. “What man would abandon his home with nothing but a tofu bucket?”

\---------

Yoshida yanked his kunai out of the tree, wiping them clean. As a distraction, they had been invaluable. Little harm done to the Battousai except for the cut across his shoulder. The sword, on the other hand… “You worried me,” he said calmly. “For a moment, I thought you’d killed him.”

His companion spat on the ground. “He’s not the only one who knows how to use the flat of a blade. Though if I don’t miss my guess, he won’t be using that arm of his for a while.”

“Mm.”

Of his own casualties, Hiro was the worst. Even with the sakabatou, the throat strike he’d suffered at the beginning of the combat had hurt him badly. He’d have difficulty speaking, or even swallowing, for some time. The other two had managed, albeit shakily, to find their feet.

He had underestimated his quarry. He would not make the same mistake twice.

He stooped to wrap fingers in Kenshin’s torn gi and hauled him upright. Unconscious, arms limp by his side, he held none of the ferocity of his earlier struggle. Yoshida stared into his face for a moment, and then hoisted the body over one shoulder.

“Senzo is waiting for us,” he said. “Don’t forget the sword.”


	7. The Morning After

Morning came, and the rain lessened to a gentle touch on the wind. The sunrise found Kamiya Kaoru once again standing outside the gate, umbrella in hand.

She had changed a lot in the past months, she knew. Grown and matured since the first day Megumi had shamed her into following Kenshin to Kyoto, gaining strength and confidence in her own ability during the siege at the Aoiya. Finally, Megumi’s last lecture to her, delivered under the bridge in Kyoto. The knowledge, sweet and sad, that for better or for worse, she was the most important person in Himura Kenshin’s life.

Knowing this, ironically, was why she had given up on trying to sleep in the early hours of the morning. When Sanosuke had come back without his best friend, she knew then that without doubt, Kenshin had landed in some kind of trouble. H _e doesn’t like to make me worry. He wouldn’t have stayed away unless he had no choice._ She’d joked about it the night before, lamenting the loss of her bucket as if its presence was far more important to her than the man who carried it. In her mind, however, she had fought off the irrational impulse to run through the streets calling his name.

She stayed by the gate in the early morning drizzle, staring down the path, until she heard Yahiko moving around in the dojo, launching into practice swings. Then, with a small snort of impatience, she returned to the house, located the sleeping Sanosuke, and kicked him soundly in the ribs.

He woke up with a sudden flailing of limbs and jerked upright, blinking at her in confusion for a moment. Then, predictably, he glared. “What was that for?”

“It’s morning,” she announced brightly. “Let’s go search.”

“But I haven’t even had breakfast!”

“So? We’ll cut through the markets on the way and pick something up. Come _on_ , Sanosuke.” There was a pause. She tried not to sound like she was pleading. “Please?”

He blinked at her, and then smiled in understanding, running a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to tidy it. “Alright, Jou-chan. Give me a few minutes and we’ll go. What about Yahiko?”

“Yeah, what _about_ Yahiko?” interrupted the student in question, making them both jump. Yahiko stood in the doorway, staring down at Sano in puzzlement, shinai braced across his shoulders. “Oi, tori atama. What are you doing here?”

“Nice talk, you little—“

“Yahiko can stay here and keep practicing,” Kaoru interrupted in steady tones. “Besides, someone needs to be here in case Kenshin comes back.”

“Comes back?” Yahiko blinked. “You mean he didn’t come home at _all_?” He looked guilt-stricken. Kaoru could guess how he felt. Yahiko had gone off to sleep the night before in the sheer confidence that Kenshin was untouchable and probably just late because he was avoiding Kaoru’s cooking.

“Me and Jou-chan are just gonna go check up on him,” Sano said, stretching to his feet. “It was pretty stormy last night. He might’ve just been trapped somewhere in the rain.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No!” she retorted. “Yahiko, if Kenshin comes back while we’re gone, he’ll just go out looking for _us_. Someone needs to stay here for him.”

Yahiko opened his mouth to object, and then closed it with a snap at the look on her face. “Alright, already. I’ll stay. Just don’t take too long.”

“So are we done here, Jou-chan? ‘Cause I’m hungry.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said crossly, dragging him to the gate.

The rain had stopped entirely by the time they reached the markets. True to her word, she bought Sano breakfast, and paused long enough to ask questions. Nobody she spoke to had seen or heard from Kenshin that morning, although a few remembered him from the markets the day before. One vendor told her she’d seen him walking with a visiting merchant.

“Maybe the guy he left with,” Sano said with a frown. Kaoru glanced at him sharply; he hadn’t said that last night. “What did he look like?”

“Short hair, black,” said the woman. “Black eyes, too, rather narrow, I thought. A few inches taller than your friend. I think he was selling flowers, yesterday.”

“Kenshin was buying flowers?” The idea brought a startled smile to her face. _For me?_

“He could have. He was carrying some, but he might’ve just been helping the merchant carry his things.”

She caught the look of relief flash across Sano’s face, and suddenly realised why he hadn’t mentioned this the night before. It irritated her. _What, does he think I’m so fragile I’ll automatically assume Kenshin has some other girl?_ “Then … he might have just been helping the merchant home, and got stuck when it started raining!” She smiled in quick hope. “He’s probably on his way home right now.”

“Maybe,” Sano said absently. “I’m thinking we should check anyway.”

She nodded, and they headed east. A path wound its way out from the city, through trees. The only thing out this way would be a scattering of homes, for those who either didn’t like or couldn’t afford to live within Tokyo itself. She wrinkled her nose at the churned up mud, and thanked whatever instinct had possessed her to wear her hakama and gi instead of a kimono. Whatever clothing she had was likely to be ruined, walking on this trail.

Particularly if Sano was going to kick water up from every puddle he came across. “Rain sure came down last night. You gonna be okay to walk this path, Jou-chan?”

“Fine, if you don’t splash water everywhere,” she snapped, picking her way through the mud. Her foot slid out from under her, and she fell back with a yelp. He caught her under the arms and set her back on her feet again. “Uh. Thanks.”

“Look, maybe just hold onto my arm? I’m sure Kenshin wouldn’t mind.”

_“Why would he mind?_ ” She punched him in the shoulder, and then latched onto his arm, face red. He grinned.

In this fashion, they walked the path, made treacherous by the rain. The area was quiet, silence broken only by the sound of water falling from the leaves around them. She peered into the trees as they traveled, looking for any sign, any flash of red hair. There was nothing; of course, the rain itself would have hidden any trace of his passage. She sighed.

“There y’are,” Sano nudged her out of thought and pointed ahead to a run-down cottage. “What’s the bet he stayed out here for the night? Come on.”

The cottage seemed abandoned, at first glance. Certainly, nobody had taken care of its upkeep in recent years. She eyed it skeptically, but nodded as he pulled her forward. They could hear quiet humming faintly from within, a man’s tenor voice. Sano deposited her on safe ground, and thumped on the closed door.

The humming stopped.

“Oi!” Sano thumped again after a moment. “It’s polite to greet guests! We don’t bite.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” replied a muffled voice. There was the click of a latch, and the door opened slightly, to reveal a man with dark hair and a cheerful smile. “You caught me at a bad time. Is there a problem?”

“No…” Kaoru said uncertainly, staring at his face. The man’s nose had been broken. Recently, if the rash of bruises under his eyes were anything to go by. “Uh… were you attacked?”

“Attacked?” Blinking, the man put a hand up to his face. “Well – in a manner of speaking. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not important. If there isn’t a problem, are you here to purchase a flower? I believe I have a couple left…”

“You’re the flower selling merchant?” Sano interrupted. “Someone saw you with Kenshin yesterday. Where is he?”

A flicker of recognition sparked in the merchant’s eyes. “Himura Kenshin-san? Yes, I walked out of town with him yesterday.” He glanced back to Kaoru. “Ah, does that mean you are the young lady he was buying flowers for? I can see why he would go to such effort.”

She blushed. “Th-thank you…”

The merchant stepped smoothly through the half-open door, closing it behind him. “Himura-san did not return last night? I did warn him not to walk back in the weather, but I feel he was worried about being late home.”

Kaoru’s face fell. _Then he_ is _in trouble. Oh, Kenshin._

Sano pointed at his face. “Was Kenshin with you when that happened?”

“Well, yes,” the man smiled ruefully. “In fact, Himura-san was the one who injured me.” At that, they both stared at him, and he made a placating gesture. “It’s a very long story. To put it simply, Himura-san came out here last night at my request. We fought a duel with shinai, over some history between us. I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you any more than that.”

“Like hell it’s not—“

“Sanosuke.” Kaoru placed a hand on his arm. “It’s all right.” She stepped forward, and nodded gravely to the merchant. “I appreciate your help. Can you tell me when he left your cottage?”

“Ah, well, let’s see…” He tilted his head in thought. “I would say about an hour after sundown. I do hope he’s all right. Good luck to you.”

She bowed, fringe falling forward to conceal her face. She hoped he couldn’t see her disappointment. “Thank you. I hope you recover from your injury soon.” Then, without another word, she turned and walked sedately back the way they’d come.

Sano hesitated a moment, eyeing the smiling merchant, before sprinting to catch up with her. “Oi, Jou-chan. Why’d you stop me?”

“Because he was right,” she said softly. “If it’s over past history, then it’s probably something left over from Kenshin’s time as a hitokiri. Whatever happened between them is none of our business – I haven’t pried into his past before, and I’m not going to start now.”

They continued to walk in silence. Behind them, the cottage door shut as the merchant returned to his tuneless humming within.

Kaoru stared down at her hands, clenched into small fists. _Kenshin._ She wondered if, had they attempted to come out here in the rain last night, they might have made a difference. _No_. Logically, they would have achieved nothing other than getting totally lost.

She jumped as a hand slapped onto her shoulder, and looked up at Sano in astonishment.

“Don’t look so down, Jou-chan. There are plenty of places between here and the city. We’ll search a bit. Besides…” He looked away with an awkward grin. “…I think Kenshin prefers it when you smile. So make him happy, huh?”

She stared, and then smiled uncertainly. “Why, Sagara Sanosuke, that was positively nice of you.”

“Don’t get used to it. Come on. If Kenshin ran into trouble on the path, we might find something if we have a look around nearby.”

They left the path, separating to either side of it. Kaoru wandered aimlessly through the trees, still meandering her way in the general direction of the city. This was a near pointless exercise, she knew; the rain would have washed out any obvious signs of an attack, and neither she nor Sano were trackers. No doubt, Sanosuke already knew this. She stole a glance across the path and watched him, hands in pockets, slouching along with his eyes on the ground. Unaware she was watching him, he’d let his stoic mask slip to show his own concern.

She sighed, and then yelped as her foot turned in the mud. _Again! I should’ve been watching where I was going!_ With no Sanosuke to break her fall, she landed in an ungainly heap at the foot of a tree. Her string of curses brought him running, but by then she was already standing on her own.

“I swear, this mud is out to get me,” she snapped as he arrived.

“Or maybe you’re just clumsy.” He dodged as she swung a fist at him. “Much better. Now you’re acting like the Jou-chan I know.”

She winced as the punch put extra strain on her ankle, and put out a hand to support herself. “I think I twisted it.” Her hand caught on something sharp, and she flinched back from the tree in surprise. “That hurt.”

“You sprain your hand, too?”

“No…” She glanced down at the new scratch on her palm, then back at the tree. “The tree cut me.”

“Lemme have a look.” She held out her hand to him. He ignored it and stooped down to peer at the tree. “The bark’s raised sharply, here. Looks like something got jammed into it. There’s a break just here, see?”

She had a closer look. Sure enough, a thin gash in the bark was seen, deepening into the tree itself. She swallowed. “Could a sword do this?”

He glanced at her shrewdly. “Doubt it. Too narrow. Maybe a knife?”

“A knife…” she echoed, running her hands along the bark. “Here’s another one. And … one right here...”

“Could have nothing to do with anything, Jou-chan.”

“I know.” She pulled her hand away, running her hand along the scratch. It wasn’t deep, barely bleeding at all—

She froze. “Sanosuke.”

He glanced at her, eyes widening at her sudden pallor. She was staring at the tree, and he turned to follow her gaze.

Caught on the raised edge of abraded bark, at the edge of the uppermost gash …

… was a strand of red hair.

\---------

Senzo Karanai leaned his head against the door, humming quietly to himself until the footsteps of his unexpected visitors had frayed into silence.

He hadn’t liked the way the thug had looked at him. Glaring, suspicious bastard. Too protective of his friends by far, that one, and not likely to have his ear turned by talks of honour. The Kamiya girl, though – he could see why Himura liked her. Desperately concerned, yet her own sense of honour had deflected the thug’s further questions.

Shame, really.

“Still, that was a close one, eh?” He addressed the slack jumble of limbs on the futon with jovial tones. “I thought I’d give you the chance to mend, but your gangster friend will be back here soon, I suspect. High time I got you on the road.”

There was no reply. Truly, he didn’t expect one; after the dose he’d administered last night, it was doubtful Himura would wake for at least another two days. By that time, he intended to have them both on ship, bound for Kyoto, to receive the rest of his fee.

After that, what his employers did with the former hitokiri was none of his concern.


	8. Suspicion

With confirmation of an attack, they searched the area frantically. Hampered by a twisted ankle, Kaoru sank to her knees and dug her fingers through mud and water in an attempt to find other clues. Sanosuke ranged further through the trees, looking for other, more obvious signs. Scored bark on other trees. A discarded weapon. Even – and he dreaded this potential discovery – a body.

He found none of these things. Armed with the knowledge that a recent fight had taken place, his gaze swept along the ground more analytically, and noted the signs of upheaval in the mud. He was no tracker, but he certainly had imagination. That deep depression in the mud, gradually filling with water – had someone fallen? A few footprints here and there had survived the downpour, but gave no indication of how many there had been, or what had happened … or where the ambushers had left to afterwards. Try as he might, he couldn’t find anything resembling a trail, leading away from here. They’d obviously been careful on the way back, past his ability to find them.

It pissed him off.

He trailed back to Kaoru and found her still on her knees. Her back was to him, shoulders hunched in a quiet stillness that he suddenly found ominous. He crossed the last distance between them swiftly, and crouched down next to her. “Oi. Jou-chan. You alright?”

“He’s hurt,” she said softly. Her hands were folded in her lap, curled into loose fists.

“You don’t know that.”

In response, she lifted her hands and held them out to him, unfurling them one at a time. Sano recognised the leather tie, neatly severed, with enough of Kenshin’s hair remaining with it that the mud had clotted it together in a thin, dirty thread. In her other hand, she held a torn scrap of material. Filthy, but Kaoru had made a vague attempt to wash it clean in a nearby puddle. The colour clearly showed through as the fuchsia the rurouni was so (oddly) fond of wearing. Blood stained it through; weakened and washed out by the rain, but nevertheless it was there.

He fought back the urge to curse aloud, and instead shook his head, searching for something to say that would be remotely reassuring. Kaoru’s gaze shifted to the stab wounds in the tree. Her face was tight and pale, but at least she hadn’t gone to pieces.

“It’s not a lot of blood,” he managed at last. “He’s had far worse. C’mon, Jou-chan. Don’t panic. Kenshin’s not the type of guy to be taken down by a bunch of bandits.”

 _"Then where is he?”_ He snapped his mouth shut, taken by surprise. He’d never heard that tone of voice from Kaoru before – low and sharp as a whip crack. He drew back from her as she rose to her feet, her fists clenched over her discoveries, and turned sharply to face him. He saw the struggle in her face, then; growing fear, warring with the need for self control. “Where, Sanosuke? Why didn’t he come home?”

“I don’t know,” he replied bluntly. “But yelling at me isn’t going to do anything more than waste time.” She stared at him as if she’d been slapped. He plunged ahead before she could return the favour. “Look, the best thing we can do is head for home. In case you haven’t noticed, your clumsiness got you hurt, and Kenshin would kill me if I didn’t make sure you got treated. Also,” and he continued in a softer tone, “If Kenshin was hurt badly enough, he may have just headed back to Megumi during the night. So we deal with your ankle, and talk to the kitsune, and maybe we’ll have something more to go on.”

He almost laughed, watching her expression through his little speech range from shocked, to insulted, to relieved, and now to skeptical. Instead, he offered her his arm. “We’ll move faster if you lean on me.”

She took it without hesitation, this time, fingers jabbing ruthlessly into his shoulder as she leaned against him. Punishment for the clumsiness jibe, at a guess. He winced dramatically, and was rewarded with her faint smirk. _Much better, Jou-chan._ “Come on,” he said aloud. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

They found their way back to the path in silence, more slowly than before. The treacherous ground had been difficult enough without a sprain to contend with; Sano contemplated just picking Kaoru up and slinging her over his shoulder in order to make better time. It was an amusing thought that faded as his mind took him down other paths.

Kenshin _wasn’t_ the type to be taken down by a bunch of bandits. Sanosuke was almost positive that the trip to Megumi was going to be a dead end – if Kenshin _had_ turned up on the clinic’s doorstep last night, she would most likely have sent notice. And if Kenshin hadn’t fronted back in town, well, that meant that he _had_ lost the fight.

This meant that whoever attacked him last night knew enough about the Battousai’s capabilities to take him down. A planned ambush. The entire thing had to have been staged; too coincidental, that Kenshin had been attacked while outside the gates of Tokyo, on his way to …

… duel a merchant with apparent Battousai issues.

His eyes narrowed as he contemplated that fact. Could he believe in that coincidence? That on the same night Kenshin was lured from the city for a duel, his enemies had chosen to strike?

\---------

He had just finished packing what meager belongings he had when he heard the rumblings of a carriage approaching from the east.

Senzo tilted his head to the side, listening intently as horses whickered to a stop. Booted feet splashed down into the mud and strode purposefully towards the cottage. His visitor didn’t bother knocking, but opened the door and stood patiently, waiting to be acknowledged.

“You’re late back,” Senzo said pleasantly. “I’ve just had some unexpected guests.”

“It’s hard to navigate this path after a storm,” was the calm response.

“Ah, fair. It matters little. If you’d been here any earlier, things might have grown complicated. Tell me, how is Hiro?”

“Awake,” Yoshida said. “In pain, but he’ll live.”

“Then no casualties,” Senzo mused. “How very successful of me. Come in, I’ll need your strong arms.”

Yoshida raised an eyebrow but made no comment, stepping inside the cottage fully and letting the door swing shut behind him as the merchant knelt by the edge of the futon and touched cool, efficient fingers to Kenshin’s forehead.

The man had developed a slight fever in the night, no doubt caused by the combination of the heavy, soaking rain and the injuries he’d been dealt by Yoshida’s group. Senzo had cleansed and bandaged the deep cut on his left shoulder, and bound his right arm in a sling to his side. Though he regretted the need for injury at all, he couldn’t deny that the broken collarbone his unwilling guest suffered would make him far easier to manage. “I do wish you’d taken better care carrying him back last night. You might have done permanent damage.”

“He took down three of my men,” Yoshida replied evenly. “I feel no need to treat him delicately.”

“Then I hope your anger has been sufficiently appeased, Yoshida-kun.” He smiled slightly as he reached across Kenshin for the trailing edge of the blanket, tucking it across the redhead’s slim shoulders. He found the other edge and did the same. “I’m moving him now. His friends came looking for him, not half an hour ago. I’ll need you to take him down to the ship. Make sure his hair isn’t seen, eh? It’s not exactly a common colour.”

“What about you?”

“The ship doesn’t leave until tomorrow,” Senzo stood up. “I’ll join you by then. I have other arrangements to make in the meantime. If you’re worried about him making trouble, don’t be. Himura shouldn’t awaken for some time.”

Yoshida merely nodded, before leaning down to hoist Kenshin, blankets and all, roughly into his arms. Senzo held the door open for him, and then retreated back inside to collect the sakabatou from its resting spot on the table. By the time he returned outside, Yoshida had closed and locked the carriage door, bundle safely within. The other man turned and – with a surprised look – caught the sheathed sword flung carelessly towards him.

“A bonus for your injured men,” Senzo explained. “It’s one of a kind, and I know you like to collect. Just make sure it goes nowhere near the Battousai, Yoshida-kun. Take no chances.”

There was a brief silence as they considered each other across the narrow space. Then, with a cheerful wave, Senzo vanished back into the cottage, door closing behind him as Yoshida took the reins, and urged the horses on towards the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sano: ::sticks his foot into a muddy footprint, and prances around a bit:: There was … a mighty duel. They ranged all over…
> 
> Kenshin'll be back in like five chapters.


	9. Discoveries

Delays were inevitable, he supposed. If Kaoru hadn’t injured her ankle, he might have done this straight away, but no; some vestige of the gentleman still lurked in Sagara Sanosuke’s heart. In any case, abandoning an injured woman on the side of the road a few minutes away from an ambush site probably wasn’t the best idea.

He had compromised by dropping her off at Oguni Clinic. Predictably, Kenshin was nowhere to be seen. He asked Megumi to treat Kaoru’s ankle and take her home. He made excuses for his departure – told them he was going to spread the word with his friends, get the search under way – and ducked out the door, conveniently leaving all explanations to Kaoru.

He hadn’t lied. He would go to the gambling houses once he was done with his other, more important errand.

Nearly two hours after his first visit, Sano thumped yet again on the door of the cottage.

In the end, it wasn’t the coincidence of the duel that had decided him to return. It was the merchant’s broken nose. To Sano, it didn’t make sense. According to the merchant, Kenshin had _given_ him that injury – but in a ‘friendly’ match using shinai, why would someone with such expert skill as the redhead break his opponent’s nose? He couldn’t believe it was an accident. If Kenshin had deliberately hurt the merchant, there was far more going on than a mere honour duel.

Yet again, nobody was answering the door. He thumped again, hard enough to rattle the door on its hinges. “Oi! Open up! I wanna talk to you.”

Silence.

He counted to five, snarled a curse and curled his foot back. A moment later, the door crashed inward, revealing a cluttered interior that made Sano’s own residence look clean by comparison.

He stood in the doorway, eyes adjusting to the gloom within. The merchant wasn’t here, which was a disappointment. Then again, he wasn’t a regular vendor in Tokyo. Did the man actually _live_ in this junk pile? There was a futon in the corner, bare of any blankets, and a makeshift table a few feet ahead of him. Despite the scattered debris of timber and tipped over boxes, there was no sign of personal belongings. The merchant had left. Probably, he’d run off the moment he and Kaoru had been out of sight. That was as good a sign of guilt as any.

Sano had missed him.

Swearing, he kicked the table into the far wall with enough force to break the planking in half. Hands in pockets, he nudged the nearest box with his foot, sending it sprawling, and pushed a path across the floor. If he was very lucky, the merchant might’ve been foolish enough to leave something behind.

If not … well, at least he got to take his temper out on the dubious furnishings.

He was impressed with Kaoru’s reaction to the whole business. After her brief moment of panic at the ambush site, her quiet determination to find Kenshin, even _protect_ Kenshin, was astounding. He’d mentioned listing the rurouni with the police as a missing person, and her answer was well spoken: _I think we should, but I don’t think we should rely on them. I, for one, don’t intend to sit here and just wait for someone else to try and fix things._

Comparing the Kaoru of this morning with the self-pitying woman who had cried when Kenshin left for Kyoto had been disconcerting, to say the least.

Kyoto. An image flared to life in his mind. Kenshin, gi torn to shreds by the _Guren Kaina_ , falling like a rag doll as the sakabatou dropped from his grasp. The explosion had all but snuffed the life out of him. Sano had, in fact, thought that his best friend was dead. At the time it had filled him with a sense of the unreal. It was a moment that would forever stay burned in his mind, the point in time that he had come to realise that no matter _how_ good Kenshin was, he was not invincible.

The memory was hurting, now. Sano was trying to avoid thinking of the second, nastier possibility – that this was not a kidnapping. That Kenshin was dead at the hands of his enemies, and the most he could hope to turn up from searching was his corpse in a ditch somewhere. It was a thought that he had refrained from sharing with Kaoru, but nevertheless – the number of people from Kenshin’s past who just wanted him dead was frankly terrifying in circumstances like this.

He shook his head, and rapped his knuckles briefly against his forehead in self reprimand. “Idiot,” he muttered. “No body, no proof. Keep looking.” His foot found another obstacle, and he lifted his foot to kick it out of the way.

And paused. And instead, crouched down beside the tofu bucket and lifted it in curious hands. One bucket looked like another, really, but…

_What man would abandon his home with nothing but a tofu bucket?_

…this one did seem awfully familiar.

He turned it over, examining the sides, and saw the blood stain. Dried blood, but not particularly old, and spattered in droplets across the rim. He stared at it for a moment, and his mind almost made an audible clicking sound. It could be Kenshin’s blood, but somehow he doubted it. The thought that occurred was amusing enough to make him laugh out loud. The merchant had told the truth about his injury, but it certainly hadn’t occurred during a shinai duel.

His laughter faded quickly. Unfortunately, the tofu bucket changed nothing. Certainly, it confirmed the merchant was a lying snake, but it told him nothing of where Kenshin was now. On the other hand, a man with that much bruising on his face was going to be very easy to find—

His head snapped up as he heard quiet footsteps outside, and stretched back up to his full height with his discovery still in hand, just as a figure stepped into the open doorway, indistinct in the light.

“Ah, well,” came the smooth tenor. “I had a feeling you might return here. Did I leave anything behind?”

Sanosuke offered the merchant his best fighter’s grin. “So tell me, flower-seller. What the _fuck_ have you done with my friend?”

\---------

All in all, Yahiko reflected, it probably wasn’t the best idea to abuse Kaoru upon her return to the dojo. Limping slightly, supported by Megumi, she had entered in pallid calm, bade him sit down, and quietly told him of the discoveries she and Sano had made.

He knew as soon as he said it that the words weren’t fair, but Kenshin’s disappearance was hard to take. He yelled at her. “And you go and get yourself injured in some stupid accident? How’re you gonna help find Kenshin if you’re useless to us?”

“Yahiko!” Megumi snapped, shock plainly evident on her features. “You have no right!”

That was a first, Megumi defending Kaoru. The oddity in itself was enough to give Yahiko pause; Kaoru’s already pale face blanching to white stopped him in his tracks with shame.

“K-Kaoru … I mean …” _I’m worried as hell, and I don’t want you to be hurt._ The words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t worry about it, Yahiko,” Kaoru said flatly, staring past him at the wall. “I know what you meant.”

Megumi rested a hand on the other woman’s shoulder and offered Yahiko a soft smile. “It’s tough news to take, but there are still things we can do. Ken-san’s a missing person – if we inform the police, they can start looking for him, and they might turn up something more.” Unspoken, a tacit invitation to get out of the dojo and let the air clear between them.

He nodded. “I’ll go do it.”

“Thank you.”

And so he left, sprinting for the police station, berating himself for childish words spoken too quickly.

The officer on duty had taken his statement and informed him the police would do everything they could, which in Yahiko’s estimation wasn’t much. Almost, he wished that Saitou was still alive. He would be far more effective than the bureaucracy of Tokyo’s police department. If Saitou knew Kenshin had gone missing, he’d turn over every rock he could to find the Battousai. He couldn’t pick a fight with a dead man, after all.

Yahiko firmly shied away from the idea of a dead rurouni, and wandered further into the streets of Tokyo. He had the vague notion of finding Sanosuke, who according to Megumi was rousing his buddies up to look for Kenshin. _It would be even better_ , he thought, _if I ran into some bad guy with Kenshin over his shoulder._ Despite himself, he grinned at the absurd picture this presented, turned a corner and promptly ran into a short-cloaked figure far larger than him.

A hand reached down and grabbed him by his gi. He bristled for a moment, before realizing the hand was stopping him from falling on his butt in the street. He steadied himself, then brushed the hand away. “Thanks, but I’m okay now.”

“You should watch where you’re going.” Yahiko craned his neck to look at the speaker. The man was taller than Sanosuke, and well muscled, dark hair long enough to brush his shoulders. His face was heavyset and inscrutable as he peered down at the boy.

“You ran into me,” he retorted. “You shouldn’t be so clumsy, knocking down kids in the street.”

The man gave a ghost of a smile, and stepped back half a pace. “You shouldn’t pick fights with opponents you can’t beat, boy,” he said. “Keep that in mind. Another man would take offence at your words.”

Yahiko opened his mouth to retort, and stopped cold, frozen in place as the man stepped around him and continued on his way.

He’d been close enough to get a glimpse of what the man had been wearing underneath the cloak. The fact that it was a sword was enough to snare his attention, considering the sword-ban. But the _sheath_ …

He stood there another moment, mind working overtime, hands working into fists. Then abruptly, he turned on his heel and slipped after his mark, silent as a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George of the Jungle narrator voice: Every story has a major coincidence, and here's ours!
> 
> Kaoru-lovers, don’t fret – I’m not writing her out of the story with a sprained ankle. It’s only twisted, and she’ll still have plenty to do. 


	10. Temper

"So tell me, flower-seller. What the _fuck_ have you done with my friend?"

The merchant responded by arching an eyebrow and running his hand over the splintered door frame. "It's very rude to level accusations like that. And here, you've broken my door. The landlady will be quite upset."

"Your door isn't the only thing I'll break, you flat-nosed bastard," Sano growled, taking a step and thrusting the blood-spattered bucket forward. "This bucket belongs to Jou-chan. I'm not gonna ask again: _What did you do to Kenshin?_ "

"I drugged him."

The answer was so unexpectedly honest, delivered in such placid tones, that for a moment all Sanosuke could do was stare at the merchant in shock. Then temper took over. In two strides he was at the doorway, both hands bunched in the merchant's gi and hauling him into the air as the tofu bucket fell to the ground with a clatter. There was the gratification of seeing the smaller man's black eyes widen with genuine fright as Sano dragged him up face to face, and snarled. "Where is he?"

The merchant pried uselessly at the clenched fists so close to his throat. "I'm not so... stupid as to tell you... that, Sagara-san..."

Sano cursed and flung him bodily onto the ground outside, drawing a grunt of pain. He gave the man no time to recover, but kicked him brutally in the ribs. The merchant curled on his side, gasping for breath.

"Try again," Sano offered with a humourless grin. He planted his feet on either side of the man and hoisted him up to glare into his mottled face once more. "You've done your homework, I see. Then you know how nasty I can be when I'm angry, ne? So try again, bastard. Where?"

There was the faintest _shnik_ of metal scraping against wood. Sano froze as sharpened steel came to rest against the side of his neck.

"Put me down," the merchant suggested softly.

A tense moment passed, as Sano finally noticed what his anger had made him blind to. They were by no means alone. Two strangers now flanked him on either side, both with blades unsheathed. One of those charming swords was now digging subtly into the tender flesh near his throat. Not a situation Sano _couldn't_ get out of, had his hands not been busy almost throttling the man in front of him.

"Che!" he spat, and dropped him in the dirt.

The pressure of the sword eased slightly, and then vanished altogether. The man on Sano's other side walked into his line of vision, holding his free hand out to help the merchant, still gasping, to his feet. Dressed in dark grey tunic and pants, the thing that stood out most about him was the ugly, scored welt on the man's throat. Despite the situation, Sano grinned again; having witnessed it first hand (so to speak), he knew what sort of weapon would have inflicted such an injury.

"I do know all about you," the merchant agreed, finally. The bland look had returned to his face once more. "Sagara Sanosuke, formerly known as Zanza, fighter-for-hire. A pastime you apparently dropped when you met Himura-san. I know very well how nasty you can be. It is, in fact, why I decided not to return here alone."

"I gotta wonder why you returned here at all," Sano retorted. "Did you think we wouldn't work it out?"

"Not quite," the merchant sighed, straightening his gi. There was a slight hitch to his speech that made Sano suspect he'd broken a rib or two. "I expected you to be hunting for him. I just didn't expect for you to be on my doorstep first thing in the morning. You threw my timing out a little."

The other swordsman was still behind him, to his vast irritation. Sano couldn't turn to face him without losing sight of the other. The presence of an unsheathed blade at his back kept a check on his temper. Refraining from acting on his first impulse – a violent and bloody impulse – he instead asked the question again. "Where is he?"

The merchant waved a hand in dismissal. "Long gone. Apologies, Sagara-san, but the most I will tell you is that he is alive, and relatively unharmed. You deserve that much. Ah, but there are more important things to discuss here than Himura-san, ne?"

_T_ _here are?_ Come to think of it, he couldn't think of a single reason the bastard _would_ return to an abode he'd quite obviously fled earlier.

"You, for instance."

Sano narrowed his eyes. "You came back here for me?"

"More precisely, I was curious as to how swiftly someone would follow my trail." The merchant smiled somewhat ruefully. "You were very fast, Sagara-san, beyond all my expectations of you. Far too fast for comfort, and I can't have you interfering. I don't suppose you could be convinced to keep yourself to the Kamiya dojo and leave me be?"

"Best joke I've heard all day," Sano smirked. "I'm surprised you were stupid enough to ask that."

"A shame," the merchant murmured. "I wanted to give you the chance. I'm not a killer by nature, Sagara-san. I had hoped to avoid unnecessary bloodshed entirely."

There was an obvious cue in his words – after all, the second swordsman hadn't remained behind him because he was too lazy to move. Sanosuke hurled himself forward before the merchant had finished speaking. He'd cut it too fine; the assassination stroke aimed to cleave through him instead scored a thin, burning line through the back of his shirt. Stung like all hell, but wasn't likely to kill him any time soon. He staggered briefly at the flare of pain, then surged upright, fist already swinging for the merchant's face.

The man in grey smoothly interposed himself between the two as the merchant stumbled backward, sword raised to guard. With a bitten back curse, Sano pulled his punch before the blade could carve into his fist and instead swerved left, out of the direct line of attack. At least now, turning, he could see both of them at once. The other man wore dark blue gi and hakama and regarded him with a faint look of amusement, the tip of his sword coated in Sano's blood.

"I am truly sorry," the merchant said softly.

"Don't be," Sano gave him a ferocious smile as the two swordsmen began to close. "You're next."

They would flank him again, given opportunity, he knew. Snare him in a pincer attack and whittle him down between them. He bought time with evasion, falling back, thinking fast. They were smart – the man in blue kept between Sano and the doorway to the cottage, forcing him to remain in the open.

They were also good. Grey's first strike was fast enough that he almost didn't see it coming. He jerked back from the blow gracelessly, earning a nick on his chin that seemed to hurt more than his back did. Grey was breathing harshly, though, dark eyes glittering with effort as he completed the arc of his swing. The sakabatou injury across his throat would tax him before much longer had passed.

Sano kept grinning, recklessly. Good, but nowhere near Kenshin's level of skill. And if they weren't as good as Kenshin, then he could take them down, given time and a little luck. His biggest problem was range – a bare-handed fighter against two swords? Now, _that_ was a problem to be worked around.

Preferably before they dealt real damage. He couldn't stay on the defensive indefinitely, and now both of them were coming for him from opposite sides. He avoided Grey's next swing, and then cursed as he realised his sidestep had taken him directly into the path of the other man. There was the hiss of faint laughter behind him. Sano twisted desperately, trying to avoid Blue's lunge.

He was only partially successful. The blade caught him as he spun sideways, scraping briefly across his collar bone before plunging into his left shoulder. He gave a yelp of pain as the blade passed through, but stood firm, meeting the man's triumphant gaze. And grinned tiredly as his fingers closed around the blade in front of him and yanked it forwards another inch.

"Too close," he announced. Blue had just enough time to look incredulous before Sano's free hand curled into a fist and struck his face with all the strength he could muster. He ignored the jerk of the sword in his shoulder as his opponent staggered on his feet, and followed up with a kick to the man's gut. Blue went flying, hands limp, leaving Sanosuke listing to one side as he turned to face the other one, blood soaking through the shoulder of his gi.

Grey watched him, frozen in astonishment as Sano tugged lightly at the embedded blade, winced, then drew the damn thing out as carefully as he could. "The problem is," he explained faintly, "I was never very good at defense."

"You're mad," Grey finally hissed, voice hoarse.

"Nah," Sano corrected. "I'm just tough." The bloodied sword slipped from his grasp, striking the dirt. "It'll take a lot more than that to stop me. Don't suppose you want to tell me where my friend is?"

In response, the man lifted his weapon and charged, lips pulled back in a snarl.

"Guess not."

It was a dirty trick, and not exactly playing fair. Sano did it anyway. With a well-placed kick, he sent the fallen sword tumbling into the man's path. The edge of the blade caught him across the shins and sent him sprawling with a cry. With a deliberate step, Sano planted one foot on the man's blade and slammed him viciously in the side of the head with the other.

He stood there a moment, breathing heavily, relishing the sudden quiet. Then his hand rose to his shoulder, and he winced. Without adrenalin to keep him going, the wound was beginning to hurt immensely.

"Shit," he muttered. And then he cursed again. The merchant was nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: some general scolding by the local fox, and discussion on whether sneaking around the back streets after suspicious strangers can really be considered that polite.


	11. Twice Mistaken

Her night of sleeplessness had begun to take its toll. Kaoru dozed against the dojo wall while Megumi fussed in the kitchen, making lunch. The doctor’s offer to do so had come cushioned in her usual scorn, flatly stating her refusal to eat what she termed ‘tanuki brand’ cooking. Today, Kaoru had let the insult slide. Despite her sharp tongue, Megumi was doing what she could to ease their taut nerves.

Her ankle had been strapped. Walking unaided was a simple enough affair, if she favoured her foot. Megumi had pronounced it mildly twisted; in a day or two, provided she took care not to stress it further in the meantime, Kaoru would be able to function normally. Despite the reassurance, Yahiko’s taunt still stung. And really, a day or two could make all the difference where Kenshin was concerned.

Waiting for either Sanosuke or Yahiko to get back, and in absence of anything else to accomplish, she’d leaned against the dojo wall and drifted into much needed sleep.

It was broken, rudely, by the loud bang of a tofu bucket being tossed to the floor in front of her.

“Yo, Jou-chan,” Sanosuke said tiredly from the doorway. “Consider that payment for the kick this morning. Che! I put my life on the line to find out about Kenshin, and here you are sleeping. What’s up with that?”

She pushed herself upright, still blinking the grit away from her eyes. “That’s not funny, Sanosuke.”

“Eh. Don’t take it personally. You alone? Tell me Megumi’s still here.”

Her eyes had dropped to the bucket – her tofu bucket, stained with blood. The ramifications of its condition, let alone its very presence, began to sink in. Not nearly as fast as the ragged sound of Sano’s voice, however. She glanced at him sharply, noticing what her first, sleep-blurred gaze had failed to see. There was blood on his chin and the back of his hands, but that in itself didn’t shock her so much as the deep red stain down the front of his hanten. His hand was pressed to his shoulder. Despite his injuries, he was grinning, although there was little humour to his smile.

Before she could yell for Megumi, the woman came into view behind Sanosuke. Her reaction was far more immediate. Face blanching white, she yelled abuse. “ _Baka tori atama_! You went out to find information, not start a fight!”

“I didn’t start a fight!” Sano said defensively as she pushed him into the dojo. “They jumped me. C'mon, Megitsune, I’m not stupid enough to pick a fight against two guys with swords!”

“That’s debatable,” was the wry response. Kaoru reached his side as Megumi forced him to sit, and together they pulled his jacket from his shoulders. The shallow wound across his back became obvious, then, as well as the full extent of the injury to his shoulder. Megumi peeled cloth gently away from the edges of the wound, cursed faintly, and stood. “I’ll get the medicine chest from the house. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Sanosuke glared as she left the dojo, and then turned back to Kaoru. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m going to get blood on your floor.”

“Never mind about that,” she said sharply, wiping the blood away from his chin with the sleeve of her gi. A shallow cut there, too. “Sanosuke, what happened?”

“Went back to talk to the merchant,” he replied in flat tones. “Should’ve stayed and demanded answers the first time. He’s the one who attacked Kenshin, Jou-chan. He was waiting for me to come back with his two goons. They don’t want us chasing them down.”

She winced. There was an accusation, intended or no, in his words. She’d been the one to stop him from harassing the man. It seemed good intentions were only getting her into trouble, today. “That man... was he good enough to win against Kenshin?”

Sano hesitated a moment, as if deciding what to tell her. Then he sighed. “I doubt he had anything to do with the attack itself, Jou-chan. The merchant said he drugged Kenshin. When you consider what we found, I have to assume Kenshin worked out something was wrong and tried to get home. If he was sick, or asleep on his feet, it probably wouldn’t have taken much to stop him, regardless of how good he is.”

By the time he finished, his tone was uncharacteristically gentle. He studied her stricken face, and then added, “Jou-chan... he’s still alive. We’ll get him back.”

She took a deep breath. Then another. Calming her thoughts, forcing the worry down far enough to be able to think logically. When she spoke, her voice was blessedly steady. “If he was drugged, then he’s helpless. We have to find him. What about the men who attacked you?”

He gave an artless, one-sided shrug. “That’s the good news. The merchant ran off. I suppose he bolted when he noticed I was going to win. But... the two guys I put down, one of them had been hit by the sakabatou. I’m willing to bet he knows a bit. Made sure they weren’t going anywhere, then I got a message to the police on the way here. They’ll be picked up for violating the sword ban, at the very least. Did you tell them about Kenshin yet?”

“Yahiko did.” Megumi strode briskly back in, carrying the medicine chest. “Some time ago, now.”

With a start, Kaoru realised she was right. It was almost noon, and her student had yet to make reappearance. “He should’ve been back an hour ago.”

“Better round him up,” Sano suggested. “If I were a ten year old kid, and the man I looked up to most vanished into thin air, I know what I’d be doing.”

Searching in the streets, and probably none too subtly, either. And the merchant had produced two swordsmen to kill Sanosuke because he’d poked his nose in too far. They might not bother with a kid making a fuss, but... Kaoru stood up. “I’ll find him,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be a fool,” Megumi snapped. “I just finished with that ankle.”

“The kitsune has a point,” Sano said. Helpfully. Infuriatingly. “I’ll go.”

“Then you’re a bigger twit than she is!”

“You said yourself I can walk on it, Megumi-san. Sanosuke’s shoulder is a lot worse than my ankle.” Kaoru’s voice was steady as she lifted her bokken from its stand. “And you can’t go because of that. I’m the only one here with nothing to do. Anyway, I doubt they’ll attack him in the middle of the street. There shouldn’t be a problem.”

\---------

He recognised the sheath, of course. After so many months of watching Kenshin dispatch his challengers with the sakabatou, of staring at that remarkable sword and daydreaming a future in which he held it, Yahiko would know it anywhere. The anger burned in him now, that the man he was following had dared to separate the sword from its wielder.

His very first inclination had been to challenge the man – to turn, take the shinai from his back and call him out in the middle of the street. Rare common sense had intervened before he could grip the handle of his weapon, and he had worked the situation through in his mind. Challenging the man was foolish. Even if he won, there was no prize but the sakabatou. Kenshin would still be missing. Granted, there probably wasn’t anything particularly smart about sneaking after and spying on a man over twice his size, but Yahiko didn’t let that bother him.

If he was careful enough – if he was lucky enough – his quarry would surely, eventually, lead him to where Kenshin was.

The man seemed in no particular hurry to get to his destination. Drifting through the busy street to the markets, he paused to speak to a merchant and exchanged polite greetings with an elderly woman. He was at least half a head taller than most people he passed. Yahiko fell back, allowing market-goers to filter between them. The man’s height made him easy to spot, even from a distance. While he kept to the main streets, Yahiko would have no problem following him without being seen.

“Yahiko-kun!”

He jumped at the sound of his name, and glanced behind him. Tsubame, arms full of supplies and a hopeful smile on her face that under normal circumstances Yahiko would have loved to see. He fumbled for something to say that wouldn’t be rude, flicking his gaze briefly back to his quarry. The man had paused, apparently to discuss leather work with another merchant.

“Oi, Tsubame. Why are you here?” He winced as her smile faded to uncertainty. Try again, idiot. “Sorry... I didn’t mean it that way. Are you buying supplies for Tae?”

“Mm. I’m almost done.” She glanced down at his empty hands before giving him a shy look, the smile returning. “Are you here to buy something?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m...” He paused, thinking quickly. Explaining what he was actually doing would take too long, and wouldn’t be particularly smart. The man was not so far ahead that overhearing their conversation was impossible. “Yeah, I’m... buying the... tofu.”

“Tofu?”

Of course, that would be more believable if he had the bucket with him. Idiot again! _Seems to be the day for not thinking ahead_. He opened his mouth to rectify his mistake, but she cut him off with a thoughtful look on her face as if she’d just remembered something. “Did Kenshin-san get home all right last night?”

He froze at the name, eyes shifting to the man ahead. Did he tilt his head a fraction of an inch? Yahiko turned away from him casually, hiding his face. “Tsubame, where did you hear about that?”

She blinked at his suddenly quiet voice. “U-um... Sanosuke-san was asking at the Akabeko yesterday... Yahiko-kun? Are you all right?”

 _Did he hear? Is he watching?_ He hesitated, and dared a glance over his shoulder. The man was on the move again, at the same casual pace. Guess not. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yahiko-kun?”

Her face was worried, now. He gave her a quick smile. “I’m fine, Tsubame.” But if he didn’t leave now, he’d lose sight of his mark. “Don’t worry about it. I have to go.”

He left her there, threading through the crowd at a faster pace to make up ground. The man had found the edge of the market place and turned down a quiet side-street. Yahiko followed, more carefully now; there weren’t enough people between them to disguise his pursuit, should the man turn to glance back. Yet over the next few streets, the man didn’t turn back once.

Later, he would realise that the man’s total lack of care should have warned him something was amiss. Now, Yahiko trusted in his luck, jogging after him as he turned a corner. They were approaching the river. If he didn’t miss his guess, the man would be crossing the same bridge where he’d first tried to pick Kenshin’s pocket. The grin that the memory provoked, faded as he reached the bend and realised the man had vanished. Before him stretched the grassy banks of the river. The water had risen dramatically, given the night’s heavy rainfall, churning and muddy and fast.

He scanned the banks in disbelief. _No way.._. The bridge was up ahead, and he sprinted for it, looking around wildly. _He can’t just disappear!_ No sign of him. He couldn’t be fast enough to have crossed the bridge and disappear from his sight in just that short a time. Unless...

He slid down the grassy slope to the base of the bridge, ducking under the walkway. It turned out to be his second mistake. A strong hand wrapped around his throat and yanked him bodily off the ground. The man’s other hand slammed across his mouth as he was pushed roughly against the stone wall.

“I told you, boy,” came a flat voice. “You shouldn’t pick a fight with an opponent you can’t beat.” Fingers dug into his throat, cutting off precious air. “Nothing personal.”


	12. Twice Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for someone actively attempting to murder a child (though don't call Yahiko that where he can hear you)

His first reaction, one that he would never confess to, was blind panic.

Yahiko clawed at the hands holding him aloft, feet kicking wildly beneath him. The man's fingers cut brutally into his windpipe; even if he'd had the chance to yell for help it was unlikely he would be able to manage anything beyond a hoarse croak. The hand across his mouth was large enough to engulf half his face. Lack of air caused spots to dance in his vision. Beyond them, he could see the man's eyes fastened on him. Not angry, not amused, but flat and expressionless. The sheer lack of emotion on his face was terrifying in itself – as if murdering a ten-year-old boy was merely a minor addition to his daily routine.

Yahiko could picture quite clearly what would happen next. He would suffocate to death, and this man would turn and drop him into the churning river as if he were a sack of unwanted kittens. He knew true horror, facing the idea of dying in this fashion without even a chance to fight back. His shinai was pinned between his shoulders and the wall, unreachable. This was no combat, no honourable match. He was going to die a coward's death.

_Kenshin_ certainly wouldn't let himself die without a fight.

That thought – the image of disappointed violet eyes that flashed in his mind – brought him back to reason. The spots before his eyes were larger now, the roaring sound of the river drowning out all else. He went limp in the man's grasp, closed his eyes and tried to centre his thoughts. Then, wrapping both hands around the man's wrist, he pushed his legs away from the wall and twisted his hips sideways, planting both feet as hard as he could into the man's gut and groin. Now, _there_ was an expression at last; surprise, and pain. The grip around his throat and mouth loosened, and he took advantage of that fact to sink his teeth viciously into the flesh between thumb and forefinger. The act elicited a yell of agony from his assailant and – mercifully – both hands snatched away from him. He fell roughly to his knees on the dirt, frame shuddering as he struggled to draw breath into his deprived lungs, arms already reaching back and drawing the shinai.

The air had never tasted so sweet.

Yahiko fought the urge to stay huddled on the ground and forced himself to his feet. A booted foot caught him in the shoulder as he rose and sent him sprawling against the wall. He took the brunt of the impact on his left arm and shifted his back to the stone once more. Only this time, his shinai was free, hilt clutched in both hands – and if his legs were still shaking from his narrow brush with asphyxiation, his arms were steady.

Pride gave him the words. "I am Myoujin Yahiko, of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu." His voice was cracked, hoarse and painful. He swallowed. "And I challenge you."

The man regarded him silently, clutching his bleeding hand, a speculative look on his face. Then he flipped the fold of his cloak back, and drew his sword. The sakabatou was still tucked into the sash at his waist. Yahiko eyed it for a moment before he lifted his face to glare at his opponent.

The man took a step forward. "Don't be arrogant, boy."

" _You're the arrogant one!_ " Yahiko shot back. His words were ragged, stripped to barely above a whisper. "Running around with his sword like it's yours!"

The man struck, blade a deadly arc aimed for his neck, and he ducked. The sword sheared through the ends of his hair before striking against the wall. In retaliation, Yahiko's shinai slammed into the man's ribs, drawing a grunt from his opponent. He continued moving, feet sliding across the grass as he stepped past the man and turned, bringing the shinai up again.

"Yoshida Koujiro," the man offered unexpectedly.

Yahiko blinked at him.

"My name, boy," Yoshida added. His eyes were dark with amusement as he shifted grip on his sword to hold it two-handed. "I accept your challenge."

There was mockery of a sort in those words, a quiet arrogance that set Yahiko's teeth on edge. The man was humouring him, at best, confident in his ability to win. He weighed options as they circled each other. He was smart enough to know that his shinai was not a match for Yoshida's katana at the best of times, let alone when his legs still trembled beneath him and his raw throat made breathing difficult. Not with conventional means of fighting, at any rate. He was going to have to be creative.

"Don't make me wait, boy," Yoshida growled.

Yahiko leapt for him, shinai held high.

Yoshida swung his sword sharply downward to meet his charge, anticipating an attack similar to his last. As the sword came down, however, Yahiko planted both feet and threw himself to the left out of harm's way, rather than attempting to dodge beneath the blow. He landed, twisted, and with a look of willful determination pushed upward off the ground, hands wrapped around the base of the shinai hilt, and rammed the blunt tip of the bamboo sword up into the underside of Yoshida's jaw. There was a sharp clacking sound as the man's head snapped back, and the large man reeled backward with a muffled cry.

Yahiko landed on his feet, readjusted his grip on the shinai and turned to press the advantage with a triumphant grin. The boot caught him in the stomach before he could register anything more than Yoshida's look of utter fury. He went flying as the air exploded out of him, sprawling on the grass, hand white-knuckled on his weapon. The man was _fast_ , and already on the move, stalking across the ground towards him, lifting his sword for the killing blow. There was blood on his chin, leaking from the corners of his mouth. Yahiko wondered if he'd bitten through his tongue. It was an absent thought, almost swallowed by the pain and his body's need for air. The sword flashed down and he rolled to avoid it, lifting the shinai in an automatic attempt to block.

Yoshida's katana sliced through the shinai above the hilt and continued into the ground, missing him by a hair's breadth, leaving a splintered blade only a few inches long left in his grasp. He came up from the roll on his knees and staggered to his feet, staring at the hilt in shock.

Yoshida straightened, sword held casually, watching as Yahiko finally managed to suck air into his lungs again. The man tilted his head and spat a mouthful of blood into the grass, wiped his mouth clean and began his steady approach.

Yahiko threw the hilt at his face.

Yoshida knocked it aside with the sword.

Yahiko took advantage of the sword's movement and launched himself at the man, ramming his shoulder into Yoshida's stomach. He was too small, or Yoshida was too muscular; the swordsman's only reaction was to give a derisive snort and reach for him with his free hand, but by that time, Yahiko's thieving fingers had closed on his only other option.

He screamed as he was lifted bodily by the hair. Yoshida turned and flung him brutally into the stone wall several feet away. His head struck with a crack and he fell. The world went hazy – he was conscious of nothing more than the sound, once again, of Yoshida's approach through the grass. He heard the whistling of the sword as it descended again, and cried with the effort of lifting his arms...

...and parried with the sheathed sakabatou.

The world faded for him, then, despite all his desperate effort to hold on to it. He registered Yoshida's surprised intake of breath, but try as he might he could no longer react. The roar of the river seemed to drown out all else. He tried to form thought, an apology to Kenshin or Kaoru for failing them, but this, too, seemed beyond him.

\---------

He woke to the rushing of the river, and a slurred voice. After a moment, he recognised it as Yoshida's. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He struggled for the words to tell the man he didn't understand. He heard the muffled voice of another person, but failed to catch the words. Someone else had arrived at the scene. Yahiko opened his eyes. The world was blurred, but he was still at the river bank, still curled on his side in the grass. The sakabatou was still clutched in his hands. If he was alive, his blackout had only been momentary.

"You're already injured," Yoshida went on. His voice was thick and distorted – apparently he _had_ bitten through his tongue. "I won't go easy on you just because you're a woman."

_Woman?_ Yahiko struggled to sit up, and winced at the sudden pain that shot through his head as he did so. He stared past his assailant to the woman who now challenged him. Kaoru, still dressed in her training hakama and gi, with the bokken held firmly in her hands. Her face was pale and angry. _How the hell did she find me?_

He found his voice. "Kaoru!"

She glanced at him briefly, her lips thinning, before turning back to Yoshida. "That's fine. Attack me however you want, but you will not touch my student again."

_Stop, Kaoru!_ Yahiko staggered to his feet and leaned against the wall, gripping the sakabatou to his chest, and gave her a stricken look. She was still favouring the twisted ankle, geta kicked from her bandaged foot, toes pressed into the grass. Her bokken was outstretched, extended towards Yoshida. The Shinken stance: total defense, with no opportunity for attack. Kenshin had used it once before, against Hannya.

He wasn't the only one to recognise the tactic. Yoshida stared at her in bafflement. "Woman, you cannot win like this." He gave an experimental, almost gentle swipe with his katana, easily blocked by her bokken. "Your sword is made of wood. Eventually, I will destroy it. You would do better to test your luck with offense."

Kaoru said nothing. She merely watched his face.

Yoshida struck, a thrust aimed for her chest. She deflected the stroke safely over her shoulder. He drew back and thrust again, for her neck, with the same result. He snarled and swung his sword around in a vicious, backhand slash. She sprang back from the attack, wincing as the jump put strain on her ankle, and brought the bokken up to the same defensive stance.

"Attack me," Yoshida invited.

"No."

"You won't be able to hurt me if you don't."

"I'm not interested in hurting you," Kaoru said quietly.

Twice more, he attacked her, only to be parried. Yahiko was finally standing unaided, uncertain whether he should be getting involved. He had no idea what Kaoru was playing at. If she wasn't interested in hurting him, _what was she trying to achieve?_

Yoshida's next strike targeted the bokken itself, and Yahiko flinched as Kaoru's sword met the same fate as his shinai. She stepped backward again, gingerly, and raised the hilt to guard, second hand bracing against the shortened shaft much the same way she had against Kamatari. The expression of concentration on her face hadn't changed. Yahiko took a step forward, and she stopped him with a brief shake of her head.

The shrill sound of police whistles split the air.

Yahiko's head jerked up in surprise. How had they known? He caught the unguarded relief on Kaoru's face, and knew they were expected by at least one person here. It clicked, then, what she had been trying to achieve. Hampered by a twisted ankle, it was possibly the only thing she could have done to save his life.

Yoshida's face, ugly with malice as he glared at her, showed that he had reached the same conclusion. "You were buying time for the boy," he stated. His mouth twisted. "Coward."

"I'm not the one who picked a fight with a boy half his size," Kaoru retorted. Her gaze flicked to Yahiko apologetically. "If you don't want the police to arrest you, you should leave before they get here."

He snarled again, a sound full of rage, and lunged at her wildly. Yahiko yelled her name, feet already moving across the grass as he lifted the sakabatou. Kaoru spun sideways, jerking her head away from the blade as it thrust past her face, and slammed the hilt of the bokken across his fingers. Her ankle turned underneath her and she fell with a cry of pain, but the sound was nothing compared to Yoshida's howl, staring at his broken hand as the katana dropped from his grasp to stab into the dirt. He turned in rage and struck her with his other hand, hard across the face. Her head snapped backward, and he raised his fist to punch her again.

Yahiko hit him from behind, bringing the full weight of a sheathed sakabatou across the back of his knees. The man flailed, managed to catch his balance, and shoved Yahiko hard in the chest, knocking him down.

The sound of the whistles grew closer. A shout, further along the river, let them know they'd been spotted. Yoshida clutched his broken hand with the other, and glared pure hatred at Kaoru. "This isn't over," he said.

And then he was running, past Yahiko, away from pursuit, leaving the two of them sprawled in the grass at the edge of the river, and his katana still upright in the dirt.

\--------

The police came past a moment later. When one stopped to check on their welfare, Kaoru shooed him onward, assuring him that the two of them would be okay.

They sat there for a while in silence, surrounded by the splintered remains of shinai and bokken. Yahiko stared at his teacher almost remorsefully. The beginnings of an impressive bruise were already discolouring her cheek.

"Tsubame found me," Kaoru said suddenly.

He blinked in astonishment. "Tsubame? What for?"

Her gaze softened, and she reached out to touch gentle fingers to his neck. The touch stung, and he pulled back with a hiss at the pain. "Sorry," she said quietly, drawing away. "Your voice sounds terrible."

He remembered the first few moments of Yoshida's attack – the panic he'd suffered – and ducked his head in embarrassment. "Kaoru..."

"Well," Kaoru interrupted, cheerfully. "It's all your own fault, running after a man like that without thinking. You're just lucky you were so busy trying to sneak after him that you were blind to Tsubame sneaking after _you_. You know, sometimes your stupidity really amazes me, Yahiko-chan."

"Don't call me _chan_ , busu!" he flared, shoving at her shoulder in retaliation. _Tsubame_ had followed him? Which meant Tsubame had seen him get into trouble... and gone for help... and found Kaoru. "Why'd she follow me?"

_Tsubame_ had followed _him?_

"She said you were acting funny in the market place. You worried her. I sent her on to the police." Kaoru looked reproachfully at him. "You shouldn't worry the girls that like you."

He smirked. "Were you worried about me, then?"

She glared at him. "It's a good thing you already look half dead, Yahiko." She painfully rose to her feet, and held a hand out to him. "Come on. Seriously, you do look terrible. Megumi will kill _both_ of us."

He hesitated, and then held out the sakabatou to her. "He had Kenshin's sword."

"I know," she said softly. "I saw. Good job, Yahiko."

She took the sword from him, and offered her other hand, which he accepted, and she drew him to his feet. Then, sharing a shaky smile with each other, they helped each other stagger home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This isn't over," says the guy who was always meant to come back for a round 2 but then the streamlining of the plot meant he never got the chance. SORRY, YOSHIDA. Maybe one day I'll actually write that sequel, eh
> 
> I wondered whether Tsubame would actually be proactive and try to find out what Yahiko was up to. Then I remembered that she braved her way through seedy Rakuninmura to find half-dead Kenshin on the off chance he'd get up and go save Yahiko's life. 
> 
> Next chapter, the return of a somewhat put out Himura Kenshin.


	13. Awakenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly called this chapter Ponying Up The Rurouni jsyk

The first time he awoke, he came up fighting. With his intuition screaming that something was desperately wrong, he opened his eyes to a shattered, kaleidoscopic image of dancing flame and darkness. His first thought was that he must have been ill, feeling the sweat-soaked bangs of his hair plastered to his face. His second was more jarring, and demanded more of his attention. _This is not where I am supposed to be._

He jerked upright; or at least, tried to. Something was holding him down – his right arm wouldn’t move at all, and the mere effort to free it from its confines sent a warning jolt of pain through his shoulder and chest. He twisted his other arm upwards, away from whatever seemed wrapped around it, and flailed for purchase, fingers catching on a hard surface. He tried again to sit, and managed to drag himself upright. There were voices at the edge of his hearing, their strident words lost in confusion as his senses overturned and nausea made its presence known, even as the dancing fire of his vision darkened and threatened to go out.

He nearly fell, then. The intervention of other hands arrested his descent to the floor, rough hands he was unfamiliar with, that first hauled him upright and then pushed him down onto his back and held him there. Disoriented, he struggled to push them away with his one free arm, face twisting into an animal snarl as he comprehended their attempt at restraint. _Don’t touch me._ Words that echoed in his mind. Words that he must have spoken aloud, for the hands shifted from his shoulders and instead clamped around his jaw and wrist, halting his struggle, muffling his protest. He tried to kick his legs free, but they were trapped, held loosely by something unidentifiable. The voices above his head became urgent. Snatches of conversation.

— _too soon, they’ll hear him—_

— _not the sake. He’ll overdose._

_Get the merchant—_

A fragment drifted back to him, a memory of a friendly, smiling man with a bunch of flowers that smelled of Kaoru. It bewildered him, and at the same time roused an inexplicable sense of betrayal. Anger touched him, and he growled under the hands that kept him still. When his left hand was freed unexpectedly, he balled it into a fist without hesitation and lashed out, striking flesh somewhere in the darkness above. The grip on his jaw tightened painfully in response, a whispered curse uttered, and a weight settled across his chest as his arm was caught and pushed down, pinned under his captor’s knee. Trapped, he glared violet fury at the distorted shadow looming over him as the hand on his jaw was replaced with damp cloth over nose and mouth. Instinct warned him not to inhale, but a hand slammed into his right shoulder, and the resultant agony drove him to draw breath to scream.

The fire and the shadows faded after that, taken away by the sickly sweet smell that engulfed his senses and drowned out all else.

\---------

He drifted for a while, disconnected from the world. Visions of Kaoru made him reach out to her, smile at her, try to smooth the worried look from her face. When he asked her what was wrong, she would shake her head reproachfully and turn away. He tried to lay a hand on her arm, and she vanished into darkness. Her fading image filled him with a sense of loss, and he wondered what he had done to cause such concern. Her scent lingered, however, warm and sweet and fresh. It presented him with another image. Flowers, wrapped in silk.

A gift, offered on Tanabata night, which would never be given.

Kenshin opened his eyes.

Flame still flickered and danced in his vision, but the scattered pinpricks of fire merged as he blinked and tried to focus. Eventually, he narrowed the light source down to a solitary candle, burning a few feet away from his face on a small cupboard. The rest of the room was shrouded in gloom. He closed his eyes against the light, preferring the darkness. His head ached, a dull, persistent hammering behind the eyes, a pain echoed sullenly by his shoulder.

His left arm had been carefully replaced underneath the heavy blankets, hand resting on his stomach. Bare skin; someone had removed his gi. He frowned, and lifted his hand to touch the bandaging around his right arm, folded and strapped tightly to his chest. He connected the wrappings to the pain and winced. His collarbone would be broken, then.

_A figure reared up before him, sword held high—_

The night came back to him in pieces, drawing the shreds of his recollection together. He lay there in the warmth, breathing deeply, eyes closed, remembering the rain. He smelled no trace of jasmine now, but rather a tang of salt borne on fresh air, intermingled with the more immediate smells of mildew and dust. Somewhere seaward, then. The nausea was still faintly with him, and he tried to push past it, searching for other clues to his location. The faint sound of weathered timber groaning in protest, creaking beneath him. The rolling motion of a boat.

A familiar presence in the room, beyond his own. Hidden in the darkness, alert and watching him carefully.

He’d been drugged. Twice over, now. The first time through his own gullibility, trusting in the honour of the man he’d just met. The memory hurt more than it should have. Kenshin smiled wearily in the gloom.

“Tell me.” His voice was thickened with disuse, and faint. He fought to keep his words from slurring. “What would you have done... if I hadn’t stopped to buy a flower?”

There was a rustle of cloth, and the creak of a chair as quiet footsteps approached the bed. Kenshin didn’t bother to open his eyes. When the answer came, it was delivered in soft, subdued tones.

“There were other ways.”

He inclined his head once and said no more, instead diverting his attention to his own predicament. That which constricted his legs and seemed to hold him in place was revealed to be nothing more than the blankets, carefully wrapped around his body. It suggested he had been carried here, swaddled like a sleeping child. It wasn’t an image he cared for, and it raised an alarming question. Just how much time had he lost to Senzo’s poisoned sake?

There was a muted clack of timber, and he opened his eyes to find the merchant settling his chair closer to the bed. The look of friendly cheer on his face set Kenshin’s teeth on edge. “Forgive the rough handling, Himura-san. You woke a little earlier than expected, and we were still in port. I couldn’t take the risk that someone would hear you.”

“I will forgive nothing,” Kenshin returned in even tones. “You have no right.”

“An understandable reaction and one I’m sure I deserve. I do wish I could assure you of my good intentions, Himura-san, but I’m afraid I’ve lied to you enough.” Senzo’s smile turned rueful and he ran a hand through his hair. “I _am_ sorry. When I took this contract, I didn’t expect you to be such a personable man. In some ways, I regret this.”

Kenshin studied his face. The damage he’d inflicted with the bucket was still pronounced on the merchant’s features. It gave him a rough time frame; perhaps a day or two had passed, at most. _A contract_. He had been tricked, and poisoned, and abducted, all for the sake of money. He closed his eyes. “Who?”

“Does it matter?” There was a quiet chuckle. “As I understand it, you left quite a few enemies behind in the Bakumatsu. You could hardly be surprised if I stated my intention to sail you into Kyoto and sell you to the highest bidder.”

He let the jibe slide, and concentrated instead on fighting down the wave of exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. Stubbornly, he repeated his question. “Who?”

There was a long silence.

It was broken eventually by the slide of the chair as Senzo rose to his feet. “You’ve been ill. Adding to that, your prolonged sleep will have dehydrated you quite a bit, I suspect. I’ll bring you some water shortly. It will help to flush the last of the drug from your system, in any case.”

“I doubt I will trust any other drink you bring to me,” Kenshin murmured.

“I have no reason to drug you further,” Senzo said, mildly. “You’ll be tired a few hours more, and hardly any threat even if you weren’t. I’m sure you’ve noticed your injuries. With only one arm and no weapon, you’re harmless enough.”

Kenshin gave no reaction, but opened his eyes again, narrowed gaze on the merchant as he plucked the candle from its place on the cupboard and padded quietly across the room. At the door, he paused and turned back, face indistinct behind the flare of the light.

“Before you curse my name, Himura-san, I would like you to know one thing. Anyone who studies you will know almost immediately what your greatest weakness is. I may not be the most honourable of men, but at least I did not attack you through your woman.”

The door closed and locked behind him, leaving Kenshin in darkness, hand clenched angrily around the blanket as the footsteps receded.

\---------

Senzo blew the candle out as he ventured into the sunlight. He was in a surprisingly good mood, despite the complications that had arisen yesterday. The gangster had fractured a few of his ribs, but it was by no means the worst injury he had ever suffered. The arrest of Yoshida’s two men was certainly a setback, but at least he was aware of the problem. Steps could be taken.

Yoshida himself was a concern.

Senzo scanned the deck, staring past the sailors at work, and found the man slouched on his elbows against the rail at the bow of the fishing boat, staring at his bandaged hand. The merchant was not entirely sure of the details of how Yoshida’s fingers had come to be broken, but it had certainly sunk him into a black mood. And then there was the sakabatou. All Senzo knew of _that_ incident was that, somewhere between the port and Yoshida’s home, the sword had been lost.

Yoshida himself was a concern because all he had done since boarding was stare at that broken hand. Senzo had always found the man to be a calm professional when it came to his tasks, and he didn’t like the idea of change in this regard. He thought of pressing for the details, and decided against it, at least for now. There were other, more important things to discuss. He moved up beside the taller man, staring out at the sea.

“Aki and Hiro,” he said casually. “Will they talk?”

There was barely a hesitation. “Aki might. His temper is too quick. A man with little self control will not hold against any police officer with patience.”

“Ah. You’re very honest, Yoshida-kun. How long?”

Now Yoshida did pause, weighing up possibilities. “He’ll hold for a day, perhaps two. Aki knows little.”

“He knows we’re headed to Kyoto.”

“Mm. But that’s all he knows.”

“True, true.” Senzo smiled vaguely. “Well, at worst we’ll have to be careful on the streets. My description will certainly be circulated. Possibly yours too, eh Yoshida-kun?”

He glanced at the man slyly, wondering if his guess had hit the mark. Yoshida’s only reaction was to shift his gaze back to his hand, and shrug.

Senzo pushed himself away from the rail. “Don’t take your anger out on our guest, Yoshida-kun. That’s all I ask. I’m not really sure how happy Bayushi-san will be if we damage the Battousai further.”

If the weather continued fine, they would make it to Kyoto in another two days. Senzo would drug Himura again before then, for the journey into the city. Broken collarbone or not, he would take no chances.


	14. The Cat

Kenshin dozed for the next few hours, giving in to the heavy drowsiness that plagued him. There seemed little other option, for the moment. Even if he managed to break down the door and fight his way through an unknown number of crew, the result would still be unfavourable. He had never tried to navigate anything larger than a rowboat – there hadn’t seemed much call for it, no matter what his profession at the time. Trying to do so, as a novice with only one strong arm, would be sheerest folly.

Thus, he slept in an effort to recover his equilibrium. The merchant’s sake had left him uncomfortably weak and lethargic, and Kenshin did not like feeling so vulnerable even when among friends, let alone a boat full of hostile strangers. His mind was clear now, at least. Both a blessing and a curse, to be lucid and aware of his circumstances without the strength to change the situation.

He woke, finally, to the sound of a key in the lock, and opened his eyes as light flared once again across the room. Two men stared at him from the doorway, and he tensed, until he realised one was carrying a large jug, which he placed on the cupboard. The large man who lingered at the door, candle in hand, was familiar to him. He sorted through the jumbled headache of his memories, and came up with a name, called in self-righteous fury by the man who had finally struck him down.

“Yoshida,” he said softly.

They both stiffened as he spoke. Yoshida glanced at the other man, and gestured him outside with a toss of his head before approaching the bed. The door closed gently behind him, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

Kenshin frowned as he took in the other man’s appearance. Yoshida’s sword hand was wrapped tightly, bandaged from wrist to fingertip. It puzzled him. Try as he might, he could not recall striking the man at all.

Yoshida noted his gaze, and shook his head. “It wasn’t you,” he said flatly. “What do you want?”

“The man this one struck in the throat.” His voice was strong and clear, which was a relief. A vast improvement over his earlier conversation with Senzo. “Did he recover?”

Yoshida blinked, and stared at him suspiciously. “Mm. He is sore, but there is no permanent damage.”

“That’s good to know.” Kenshin closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the other man’s boots on the planking as he headed for the door.

As the door creaked open, Yoshida spoke again. “The water is not drugged. If you wish, I will drink some myself to reassure you.”

“No need,” he replied serenely. “Thank you.”

There was a faint snort, and then the door swung shut as Yoshida departed, locking him in and taking the candle away.

Kenshin waited until the sound of footsteps had faded before opening his eyes to the gloom. The darkness was not absolute; after a few moments, his sight adjusted enough to be able to pick out the edges of the cupboard and the chair in the room.

His head still ached abominably, but he suspected that was now more a product of dehydration than anything else. The nausea had long faded. He extricated himself from the blankets, relishing the freedom of movement and the feel of fresh air on his limbs as he swung upright, sitting on the edge of the bed. The movement caused the pain behind his eyes to spike and he winced, holding still until it subsided to manageable levels. He would thank Senzo for the water, even if the man deserved nothing else.

Even without Yoshida’s attempt at assurance, he would drink the water. While he had no doubt at all that the merchant would attempt to drug him for the journey on to land, he suspected that his life was currently too valuable to Senzo to risk his health by keeping him unconscious for a lengthy period of time. Just _why_ he was wanted alive was a mystery to him, but he wasn’t about to complain. If Senzo had been hired to kill him, he would be dead by now. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

Even less comforting was the state of his shoulder. Kenshin raised slim fingers to trace along the ridge of the collarbone, a delicate touch across skin to the restriction of the bandaging. The ache of the injury was dull, which was a good sign considering the short period of time that had passed. He pressed his hand gently across the shoulder, and bit back a soft cry as pain surged in response. Definitely broken. Whoever had punched him this... morning?... probably hadn’t helped matters. To his less than expert senses, the break seemed clean; would be, if he’d received the injury as the result of the flat of a blade, which he suspected. At best, he would be able to remove the arm from its strapped sling in a couple of weeks.

Time he obviously wasn’t going to have. He cursed softly in the darkness. The loss of his right arm was going to pose difficulties. Certainly, it would make his efforts a lot more troublesome.

He wondered what had become of the sakabatou. Whether he would have time to look for it when he made his bid for freedom.

He wondered what his friends were doing now. Guilt fluttered in his stomach at the thought of Kaoru’s worried face. _Forgive me, Kaoru-dono. I’ll be back as soon as I can._

\---------

The two swordsmen were identified as brothers. Aki and Hiro were their names, and it was Hiro – the man in grey with the sakabatou welt across his throat – who volunteered the information in his hoarse and damaged voice.

It was the only thing Hiro confessed to, however. His brother Aki was the one who finally broke, nearly a full day after the confrontation with Yoshida. Trading insults first with the police officer in charge, and then with Sanosuke when he and Kaoru were present at the second attempt at interrogation, he finally offered an exchange: information on the merchant’s plans for their freedom. It was evening on the day of his offer before it was accepted, to the incredulity of Sano.

“You’re just gonna let ‘em go?” He slammed his hands down on the desk and glared down at the man sitting on the opposite side. “Don’t the words ‘kidnap’ and ‘attempted murder’ mean anything to you people?”

“They mean a great deal,” the officer – Sano thought his name was Hiyama, from vague recollection – replied stiffly. “But this agreement comes from my superiors. If these two provide us with the information we require, we have been ordered to turn them loose.”

“That’s not good enough, you—“

“Sanosuke.” Again, Kaoru interrupted him with a hand on his arm. “If the offer isn’t taken, then we won’t find out what we need.”

“Let me into the cell,” he offered in return, grinning. “I’ll beat it out of them.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Sagara-san.” They turned at the voice. Uramura, Chief of Police, closed the door to the office behind him, and smiled politely. “I have allowed you and the lady to be present for this matter out of courtesy for our past dealings with Himura-san. I would rather you did not make me regret it. I’m stretching the rules as it is.”

Kaoru bowed quickly, her fingers digging into Sano’s arm in warning. “Thank you. Sanosuke won’t step out of line.” She glared at him. “Right?”

Sano winced, staring down into her face. It was the hellish bruise across her cheek that made him back down, he decided. He couldn’t find the heart to argue with a woman who looked like she’d just fought her way through a bar full of sailors.

“...Right,” he muttered.

They followed the two police officers through the halls to the prison cells. Kaoru still leaned on Sano’s arm; although her ankle seemed better today, despite her violent meeting with Yoshida. Yahiko was another matter. With the ugly welts on his throat from the press of fingernails, and the vaguely unfocused nature of his eyes, Megumi had confined him – amidst tirades of abuse – to the clinic for observation.

Yoshida had a meeting with Sano’s fists coming. Strangling a kid and punching a woman – kenjutsu instructor or no – were the acts of a man that desperately deserved a beating, at the very least.

Once Aki was told of his impending release, he became utterly cooperative. Disturbingly so, in Sano’s opinion. The little bastard’s face lit up with insufferable satisfaction; if it hadn’t been for the Chief’s presence in front of him, and Kaoru’s death grip on his arm, he might have accepted being thrown out of the police station just so he could wipe the smirk from his face with a punch or two.

“The merchant’s name is Senzo Karanai,” Aki began, interrupting Sano’s thoughts. “He’s exactly what he says he is – it’s just that he trades in people, as well as silks. Someone will pay him to collect a target, and he’ll do it.”

“He’s a bounty hunter,” Sano muttered.

"Yup,” nodded the other man. “Your Battousai isn’t the first person he’s taken. He’s just the most famous. Senzo had to go all out for him.”

Hiyama took notes, barely looking up. “Who is he working for?”

Aki shrugged. “That’s not the sort of thing that gets passed on to people like us.” He smirked. “Don’t bother asking what they want with the hitokiri. I don’t know that, either. What I _do_ know is that Senzo was taking him to Kyoto to organise an exchange for the rest of our money. Are you satisfied?”

Sano scowled. “Watch your tone, Blue. So far you haven’t told us anything that useful.”

“I’ve given you a place to look,” he retorted. “You didn’t have that before.”

Hiyama rapped his notebook. “How were they travelling?”

Aki grinned widely. “By boat. You’ve missed them by almost a day.”

\---------

Fifteen minutes later, Sanosuke slouched on the street, waiting for Kaoru to exit the police station. Negotiations had broken down when he lost his temper at the prisoner; it had taken both Hiyama and the Chief to pull him off the bastard when it was clear he’d deliberately delayed confession long enough to give the merchant time to leave. He supposed he couldn’t blame them for throwing him out. He was lucky they didn’t arrest him, really.

A hand smacked him lightly in the back of the head. “Idiot,” muttered Kaoru. “Couldn’t hold your temper in, could you?”

He grinned. “But I notice you dropped your hand from my arm just before I went for him. Don’t tell me you’re sorry I punched him, Jou-chan. I won’t believe you.” The flush on her cheeks proved him right. “So. What else did I miss?”

She fell into step beside him, speaking quietly. “The Chief is going to try and get word to the police in Osaka. If Senzo is going by boat, it’s where he’ll make port. And...” She took a breath. “Kenshin probably can’t fight. Aki broke his collar bone when they attacked him.”

He chewed over that a few moments, and made a decision: if he ran into Aki outside of the station, the man would wish he’d been locked away for life by the time Sano was done with him. He was still having difficulty believing the police had agreed to let them go free for such a small amount of information. _Both_ of them. Something was up. Did they have friends in high places? Or did the police have something to gain from their release? It made his head ache.

Nothing much he could do about _that_ side of things. But... “So, that’s what the police are doing,” he said casually. “What about us?”

“You have to ask?” she snapped, glancing up at him. “We’re going to Kyoto. We’re going to find Kenshin, and then I’m going to give him a piece of my mind for making us worry so much.”

Sanosuke grinned again. “Sounds like fun.”

\--------- 

The next two days passed smoothly, under hot sun and fine sailing weather. Mindful of good manners, Senzo organised rice to be taken down to his guest, and as much water as the man wanted to drink.

He chose to avoid Kenshin’s room himself, after his second visit. Despite Senzo’s cheer and confident grasp of the upper hand, that level stare had been discomfiting. Dressed only in his mud-stained hakama, unkempt hair a mass of fire across his shoulders, Kenshin had adopted a casual position, his back to the wall as he sat on the bed, resting his good arm on his knees. The redhead seemed far too relaxed for the situation he was in.

And yet, when Senzo had walked in that second time, his violet gaze had snapped up to meet his with an intensity that had him backing up to the door before he even realised what he was doing. He’d forced himself to remain out of pride, indulging in casual small talk as he collected the empty water jug. Kenshin had watched him in silence, expression unchanging, until he had walked from the room.

He’d made an enemy of the man, which was to be expected given the circumstances, but Senzo couldn’t quell the mild feeling of regret. He hadn’t lied; he _liked_ the brief conversations he’d had with Kenshin. Had liked putting him on the spot in the market place, teasing him about the woman. Had liked the honour the man had shown in the duel outside the cottage.

It didn’t change anything, of course. They would arrive in port tomorrow afternoon, and the next jug of water Kenshin received would put him under long enough for them to reach Kyoto in safety. Any feelings of regret after that would be drowned quite satisfactorily with the other half of his fee.


	15. The Mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, two notes before we start: I’m not an expert on boats, particularly Meiji era boats (this lack of experience may show, just a warning), but I did have a bit of a hunt around, and found that the Utasebune was a fishing boat introduced in Japan in the early Meiji era; it’s a small boat that rides relatively low in the water, has three masts and a bowsprit. I have modeled Senzo’s boat much the same way.
> 
> Bowsprit: a spar that protrudes from the bow of the boat. I’m adding this definition because, up until I started writing this chapter, I would have referred to a bowsprit as “that pointy thing that sticks out from the front.” I figured some of you might, too.

The cup had dropped from slender fingers, upended on the blankets. Himura Kenshin, still with his back to the wall, breathed deeply and evenly, chin tilted to his chest. His fiery bangs had fallen across his face, shrouding it in darkness.

Senzo watched him from the doorway with a thoughtful expression. That violet gaze was thankfully absent now, shuttered away by the enforced sleep of drugged water. The dosage the merchant used was tasteless, but even so, he had half expected Kenshin to be wily enough to detect it.

He approached the sleeping figure carefully, candle in hand, and reached out to sweep the tangle of hair back from his angular face. Light flickered across a profile with features softened in repose. Senzo let the bangs fall with a sigh. He hooked the cup with two fingers and placed it on the cupboard, then sat on the edge of the bed, leaned across the man and jabbed a thumb lightly, experimentally, into his shoulder.

No reaction.

“Ah, well,” he murmured. “I suppose we don’t have to do _everything_ the hard way.”

“Is he out?”

He glanced back to the doorway as he stood, smoothing out his kimono. “He is, Yoshida-kun. Sleeping like a child. Makes for an endearing image, don’t you think?”

The larger man unfolded himself from his casual position against the door frame. “I suggest you don’t repeat that when he’s awake.”

“He already hates me,” Senzo said mildly. “I hardly think any further action of mine will change his feelings either way.”

Yoshida shrugged in response, and turned away without another word. The merchant followed him out, glancing back once before leaving the room. He locked the door behind him, in any case. One could never be too careful.

They made port in Osaka in the late afternoon, sailing into the docks as the sun began to sink low in the sky, reflecting a trail of fire glittering across the waves. The dockside was still bustling with the last of the day’s traffic. Senzo scanned the crowd of dock workers and traders as his men secured the fishing boat to its moorings, searching for signs of potential trouble. He would wait until nightfall before he acted, to ensure maximum privacy, particularly given the possibility that the police in Osaka had been alerted to his movements.

There was one man who would be able to confirm whether this was the case or not. His eyes fastened on the jarring image of a police uniform in the crowd, and narrowed as he realised the officer was weaving his way through obstacles in an inexorable path towards the boat.

“Trouble?” Yoshida, at his shoulder.

Senzo shook his head. “If the police had discovered us, they would send more than one officer to deal with the situation.” His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Rather, I think this is the delivery of bad news.”

Yoshida glanced at him in puzzlement, then back to the police officer in question. The man approached at a steady pace along the pier, stopping at the base of the lowered gangplank to return Senzo’s gaze. The merchant sighed in recognition.

The officer smiled thinly as he lifted a gloved hand to remove his hat, displaying a thatch of unruly brown hair over cold, grey eyes. When he spoke, his tone was faintly mocking. “Permission to come aboard.”

“Permission granted, Yamato-san.” Senzo gave a slight shrug, gesturing across the deck. “By chance, are you here to inspect our wares, or do you have other news to share with us?”

Yamato arched an eyebrow as he drew level with the merchant. “And do you have wares to inspect?”

“Yes, yes.” Senzo smiled cheerfully. “Took a little damage in collection, but my stock is still salable. Shall we discuss this further inside?”

Yoshida had already moved away, ducking his head as he entered the navigator’s cabin, holding the door open to allow them entrance. Yamato entered last, eyes raking across the larger man’s bandaged hand, before fastening again on the merchant.

As the door closed quietly, he spoke, tossing his hat onto the table. “You were careless in Tokyo.”

“I was _unlucky_ in Tokyo,” Senzo amended swiftly.

“Considering the outcome, there is little difference between the two,” Yamato’s voice was cool. “Are you aware descriptions of the two of you have been circulated to the stations in both Osaka and Kyoto? You were lucky I was on hand to receive the telegram _here_ when it came in, or the docks would be crawling with the police.”

“And it is appreciated, I’m sure, Yamato-san, but it’s hardly something I was not expecting at this juncture.”

“Nevertheless, it makes things difficult.” Yamato scowled. “You should have killed the occupants of that dojo the night you took him. There was nothing standing in your way.”

Senzo gave a snort of irritation. “With all due respect, Yamato-san, how I conduct my business is no concern of yours. My contract is with Bayushi-san, _not_ you, and I am a merchant, _not_ a killer.” _Like you_ , he added silently. Something he wasn’t stupid enough – or brave enough, if he wanted to be honest – to add aloud. “If you were going to find fault with my operation, you shouldn’t have suggested to Bayushi-san that he hire me. If you are only here to complain, you may as well go.”

“Not a killer?” The other man smiled mockingly. “That didn’t stop you from trying to have Zanza killed. It also didn’t stop your associate here from trying to murder the woman and the boy.”

And there was the other piece of the puzzle that he had been missing. Senzo glanced up to meet Yoshida’s impassive stare. He wondered which one had broken his fingers. Rather humiliating for the man, whether it had been the girl _or_ the child. He blinked owlishly as he turned back to Yamato, and kept his voice mild. “Necessity differs from choice, Yamato-san. And I am hardly the keeper of another man’s actions.”

There was a lengthy silence in the cabin, broken only by the sounds of the dock traffic outside.

Eventually, Yamato gave a minute shrug. “The Kamiya girl and her friends are on their way to Kyoto. Once they arrive, they will make contact with certain... unfavourable allies, I’m sure. You must be careful to remain unseen, merchant. To this end, I have come to offer my assistance in leaving this dock area undetected. I will bring transportation for you.” He bowed slightly, and picked up his hat. “How is Battousai?”

“Harmless.” Senzo smiled pleasantly. “He will present no problems, although as I said, he is injured.”

“I doubt Bayushi will care,” muttered the other man as he opened the door. “If Battousai is capable of holding a conversation, that’s all that matters. I will return an hour after sundown. Be ready.”

He left without another word. Senzo scowled at his retreating back, and then turned his glare on Yoshida. “Is there anything else you should be telling me?”

Yoshida glanced down at his hand, and smiled faintly. “No.”

He was lying, Senzo was sure; but Yoshida had never willingly done anything to compromise a deal. He considered the options, and narrowed his eyes. “You will keep any vendetta you have in mind until after our bargain is concluded. Am I clear?”

The smile became wider.

“Perfectly,” Yoshida said.

_________ 

Time passed, and the merchant watched as the workers scattered across the dock area thinned, then dispersed entirely. Lanterns had been lit, and hung low in the rigging as the sun had vanished, giving way to a clear summer night. On the deck, the sailors crouched, engaged in a game of dice with Yoshida’s remaining men. Yoshida was back at the bow, staring into the darkness of the water. Or maybe staring at his hand again; Senzo couldn’t tell from his position, and didn’t particularly care.

_If Battousai is capable of holding a conversation, that’s all that matters._ He smiled ruefully. He was beginning to get the impression that the rurouni wasn’t going to survive this particular jaunt. He hadn’t missed the flare of hatred that crossed Yamato’s face when his name was mentioned. It was a shame. Perhaps he would send his jasmine flowers to the woman as consolation for his death, should it occur. He did promise them to Kenshin, after all.

He flicked his gaze across the deserted docks as he heard the sound of voices. Yamato was returning; with company, by the sounds of things. Senzo straightened from his casual slouch against the rail, turned and whistled sharply to gain the attention of his crew. “It’s time. Jotaro! Give me a hand.”

Jotaro rose from the circle of dicers as the merchant crossed the deck to the stairs leading into the depths of the boat. He was nearly done with this contract. Distasteful as it may have been, he was looking forward to the exchange, and the rest of his fee. The thought of closure cheered him. He descended into the dark corridor, humming as Yoshida’s man followed behind him silently with a lantern in hand, and produced a key from the folds of his kimono. Above deck, he could hear Yoshida issuing orders, a preparation to leave; dice scattered across the planking as the men rose to their feet.

“Almost done,” he muttered, and turned the key in the door, pushing it inward. The darkness within was impenetrable. He turned and took the lantern from Jotaro and swung it through the doorway.

The light caught and reflected unexpected movement; violet eyes hued so dark they were almost blue, glittering with cold fury in a pale face set in determination. For a moment, all Senzo could feel was stark terror as those frightening eyes locked with his, and he drew breath to scream, too late.

Kenshin swung, left-handed, and broke the chair across his head.

\---------

It had taken every ounce of discipline he possessed not to flinch at the flare of agony Senzo’s earlier prodding had produced. And if the merchant hadn’t locked the door on his departure, Kenshin would have chosen discretion and attempted to leave quietly. However, the option was not available to him... and the idea of allowing himself to be carted around like a child, wrapped in constricting blankets, wasn’t one he was willing to stomach. He knew they had docked. Could hear the people, the faint thump of the boat as it had been brought in to the pier. From there it was patience, a waiting game, tempering the fire of his justifiable anger into cool resolve as he watched the door and waited for the steady footsteps of his jailors.

And Senzo had been the one to open the door, which was fitting.

The chair was flimsy, and badly made; it shattered with the impact. Senzo bounced off the door frame with a cry, and fell to his knees as the lantern dropped to the floor amidst the broken timber of Kenshin’s only weapon, going out and plunging them into darkness. His hand still gripped the leg of the chair, a length of wood splintered into sharpness at the break point. As the merchant began to struggle upright, he flipped the chair leg over, grasping it instead by the jagged end, and slugged his kidnapper in the chin with all the force he could muster.

Senzo crumpled bonelessly. Kenshin leapt over the body into the hallway beyond, coming face to face with a younger man drawing his sword, features pallid with shock. Above deck, a call went up; the disturbance had been heard. He ducked low and dove forward, driving his makeshift weapon into the man’s gut before the man could swing, biting back a cry of his own as the man folded with a pained gasp, collapsing across Kenshin’s shoulder and sending a wave of hurt through his body.

He shoved the swordsman onto the floor with gritted teeth, readjusted his grip on the chair leg, and sprinted down the corridor for the stairs before the man could recover, bare feet slapping across the planking as he took them two at a time. A sailor appeared at the top of the stairs; with a smirk, he lifted a heavy foot to kick him in the face. Kenshin jerked his head almost casually aside from the clumsy blow, hooked his fingers in the cloth of the man’s hakama and yanked, hard. The sailor yelped as he was pulled off balance and fell past him into the darkness below.

Two steps more and Kenshin was in the open air for the first time in days. His quick gaze took in the summer night, a group of sailors staring at him in astonishment. The steady, competent presence of the swordsman, katana drawn, staring at him warily from the side rail. The darker presence of Yoshida behind them all, ki flaring in sharp hostility.

Kenshin tilted his head, assessing the competence of the sailors as they recovered from their surprise and charged him with a yell. Not trained fighters but casual brawlers, and men who apparently did not learn from past mistakes. He kept one eye on the swordsman as he sidestepped the first rush and brought the chair leg down across the back of a man’s neck, sending him, too, hurtling down the stairs. Then he was off, ducking under powerful arms and darting out of their reach.

Easy enough to avoid their clumsy attempts at hurting him, maneuvering his way across coiled rope and salt-stained wood. Easy enough to wait for a man to overextend himself, for Kenshin to take advantage of opportunity and strike. He didn’t hold back on his attacks; couldn’t afford to, given the circumstances. The stricture of the bandaging on his arm was a hindrance, offsetting his natural balance and forcing him to compensate. He had no room for error or leniency, and no energy to expend wastefully on lesser opponents. Not when Yoshida and the other swordsman had yet to close, observing the melee from a distance.

He handled the chair leg with vicious poise, dancing between his attackers in deft avoidance of grappling hands as he struck one in the jaw and another in the ribs, paring off his opponents one by one. One was lucky enough to snag a handful of his hair, loose and flaring around his face, and yanked hard, nearly pulling him off his feet. Kenshin snarled and swung backwards with expert precision, smacking the man in the mouth. The sailor screamed and fell to his knees with both hands up to his face, torn red hair still twined around his fingers.

Kenshin ignored the sting of fresh injury to his scalp as he recovered balance, blocked a punch aimed at his face with his forearm, and skipped backward a step, glancing briefly for the whereabouts of the gangplank. If he could make it to the docks, fighting would no longer be an issue, and as much as he hated to turn and run, it was the wiser choice given the circumstances. Yoshida’s man had already anticipated him; was standing between him and freedom, sword glinting under the moonlight.

Well, between him and the most direct path to freedom, at least.

He turned his attention back to the last of the sailors – three remaining, now more cautious in their approach – and caught on the edge of his vision the shimmer of metal as Yoshida finally moved on his other side, the outward flick of his wrist giving his intention away. Kenshin froze for a brief moment with indecision as the kunai skimmed across the distance, and then, through lack of any other option he cared to take, brought the chair leg up in front of his face. Two of the knives embedded themselves in the wood, sending fine cracks up its length. The third scored a welt across his forearm deep enough for the tip to scrape across the bone, catching briefly before spinning away harmlessly to the floor.

A split second later, beyond all hope of avoidance, a large fist slammed into the side of his head, and he staggered under the force of the impact, gritting his teeth against the pain. He narrowly avoided a second strike, reeled upright and shot a level glare at Yoshida as he retaliated, driving the end of the chair leg into his current assailant’s jaw, felling him.

“You dropped your guard to block my kunai.” Yoshida raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t the wisest of choices. You could have avoided them altogether.”

“If I did, you would have killed one of your own men,” Kenshin retorted, narrowing his gaze at the mocking tone of the other man’s voice. “And you know it.” His words caused the last two sailors to hesitate, turning an uncertain look in Yoshida’s direction. He blinked, trying to keep his vision in focus. The punch had been brutally hard.

“You can’t win this,” Yoshida said calmly, ignoring his accusation, stepping up beside the swordsman. “That weapon of yours is about to break into pieces. Even if it wasn’t, it couldn’t stand against a sword. Give in now, before we harm you further.”

_But I don’t have to win._

Kenshin took a breath, turned on his heel and sprinted. Not towards the rail that overlooked the pier, where he was obviously expected to try for, but directly for the bow of the boat. It took them all by surprise; it was another second before Yoshida’s snarl of command prompted them to give chase. It was all the head start he needed – he reached the curved rail at the front and vaulted over it, landing precariously on the bowsprit.

If access to the pier was closed to him, he would leap for the high walls of the embankment itself.

Behind him, Yoshida gave a yell of fury as the man realised what he was going to do. Kenshin ignored him, ran up the spar like a cat and launched himself upward and out. He hurtled across the water and landed awkwardly on the stone; with one arm strapped to his chest, he couldn’t retain balance on landing. He stumbled and fell to his knees, then staggered upright, still holding the perforated chair leg gripped in his free hand.

He’d made it.

“Most impressive, Battousai.”

Kenshin whirled in the direction of the speaker. A police officer, casually lighting a cigarette. For a moment, in the darkness, he had the wild thought that it was Saitou. But the voice was wrong, and this man was too short to be the former Shinsengumi captain.

The man wasn’t alone. Four men flanked the officer – if he truly was with the police – two of them armed with rifles. Both trained on him.

“If we were all as trusting as the merchant, you could even have succeeded in your attempt to leave,” the man continued. “Now, drop your weapon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's be a pity if all that went to waste, didn't it?


	16. Juxtaposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for some actual police brutality. it's not gone into at great length.

Kamiya Kaoru glared at her reflection.

There were bruises, and then there were _bruises_. Four days after the fight with Yoshida, and the stiff ache across her jaw had almost faded. On the other hand, her cheek had only darkened over time, into a truly startling array of purples and blues and yellows. Sanosuke and Yahiko winced every time they glanced at her face, which was gratifying in a way, and irritating in others – it was certainly far less painful than it looked.

She’d been let off lightly, compared to the other two. Yahiko had lost his glazed look, but the welts on his neck still stood out in relief. And Sanosuke... was Sanosuke. Had to be reminded on a regular basis that Aki had stuck a blade through his shoulder, but nevertheless, Megumi had been forced to stitch and bind the injury. That counted as serious in Kaoru’s book, no matter how Sano tried to brush it off.

She sighed, resting her forehead against the glass, eyes closed. Another two days before they reached Osaka, and longer before they reached the Aoiya. She’d sent a telegram before they left Tokyo on the ferry - by now, Misao had probably begun to turn Kyoto upside down looking clues to Kenshin’s whereabouts, despite the fact that, if Aki’s information had been accurate, Senzo Karanai would only have arrived in Osaka today.

Still, Kenshin would arrive in Kyoto eventually. And perhaps the Oniwabanshu, or even the police, would find him straight away, and when Kaoru and Sano and Yahiko finally arrived, they’d find Kenshin, unhurt, sitting and... and drinking tea with Aoshi.

And Kenshin would smile that sweet rurouni smile of his, and apologise for worrying her. And then she’d...

...hit him. Hard.

The quick smile this image invoked faded as she thought of Aki’s last words, flung to her as a taunt before Hiyama had escorted her away from his cell. The daydream was impossible. Kenshin was already hurt, enough to impair his ability to fight at his best. She had enough faith in him not to be totally helpless – but then, she’d met with Yoshida Koujiro and his willingness to murder a ten year old boy for the simple crime of following him through a marketplace. The men who had taken the rurouni had already shown how far they were willing to go in order to succeed. If Kenshin fought back, and didn’t manage to win free the first time—

“Oi, Jou-chan.” A rough finger tapped her on the head. “Get away from the window. You’re steaming up the glass.”

Kaoru turned to scowl at him. “Do you mind? I was thinking.”

“Sulking is more like it,” Sano countered. “Come outside. Get some fresh air.”

“I am _not_ sulking. And it’s dark out.”

“So?” He snagged the back of her kimono as she turned away and spun on his heel, ignoring her protests as he pulled her outside onto the deck. “Turn your back on someone who’s making small talk, and you say you’re not sulking? Anyway, the kid’s more miserable than you are. Why don’t you make like his teacher and cheer him up?”

“I’m _not miserable!_ ” She flailed for a moment before he dumped her unceremoniously outside – and then she flailed again, trying to regain her balance as she glared at him. “Mou! I told you I was just thinking!”

“About what?”

“About—“ She stopped at his knowing smirk, and looked away from him in irritation. “What’s wrong with Yahiko? Is he still sick?”

In response he lifted a hand and pointed along the walkway to the small, hunched figure wilted against the railing, deaf to their argument, in his own world of seasick misery. Kaoru winced in sympathy, shot one last glare at Sanosuke and padded across the deck. He followed after her, hands in pockets, whistling off key.

“Ne, Yahiko.” She fumbled for something to say. “Can I get you anything?”

He raised a pale face from crossed arms, considered that a moment, and shook his head listlessly. “How long before we get there?”

“Navigator says day after tomorrow,” Sano said helpfully. “Just two more days of throwing up your breakfast. Not so bad, is it?”

Kaoru elbowed him in the gut, effectively silencing him as Yahiko blanched a further shade of pale. “You’ve crossed this water before, Yahiko. You’ll probably feel fine by tomorrow.”

He nodded, eyes flicking across the bruise on her face before dropping guiltily downward to fasten on her hands. She felt a flash of genuine annoyance. Did he think it was his fault? She stared at him a moment, then planted a hand on his forehead and shoved him backward onto the deck.

The startled look on his face was priceless. He blinked at her in confusion, and then switched straight to outrage. “What’d ya do _that_ for?”

“Your guard is terrible,” she announced. “No wonder Yoshida got the drop on you.”

Beside her, Sano stiffened in surprise. Possibly, it was going too far – but her derisive tone had the desired affect. Yahiko shot to his feet with a glare. “Shut up, busu! I was just unlucky! I can take him on any time!”

“I’m not so sure,” she said in a thoughtful tone, tapping a finger casually to her jaw as she gazed at the stars. “If you couldn’t do it the first time, I can’t see how moping around complaining about seasickness is going to improve you any.”

“Wanna bet?” He stabbed a finger at her. “ _You_ beat him, how hard could it be?”

She smiled thinly. Cunning plan or not, _that_ comment was treading on dangerous ground. “Prove it.”

“I will!” He pulled the shinai from his back and waved it at her furiously. “Go get your bokken!”

_Mission_ _accomplished._ Kaoru sniffed and turned on her heel, sparing a glance for the blinking, speechless Sanosuke as she retreated back into the cabin. Leaving the former gangster at a loss for words was worth any number of insults Yahiko cared to throw at her.

She reached for the bokken, propped against the wall next to the futon, and hesitated with her hand over the hilt, eyes drifting to the sheathed sword that stood next to it. The sakabatou, taken from the man who wielded it, and the main reason she had kept to a private cabin in the first place, despite the extra cost.

Kaoru sighed, her light mood vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, and crouched in front of Kenshin’s sword, touching light fingers briefly to the sheath. _Soon_. She would take care of it for him as long as she had to – which wouldn’t be for very long at all, if they were fortunate.

“Kenshin no baka,” she muttered, almost fondly

_Take care of yourself._

\---------

Blood trailed the length of Kenshin’s forearm, a warm, sluggish thread of crimson that pooled briefly between his knuckles, before splashing to the stone at his feet.

The sound of its fall seemed unnaturally loud in the silence that followed. He kept a stubborn grip on the chair leg despite the other man’s demand, and leveled his gaze at the two men expertly aiming rifles at his chest from barely ten feet away. Their aim was steady, their expressions intent; both men were far from novices.

There were options, none of them with a great potential for success, or even a moderate one. The water behind him was a quick escape route from his immediate situation, but led to more problems than it solved. Quite apart from the complications of trying to swim one-handed, dropping into the sea next to a boatload of hostile sailors would only drop his chances of defending himself to zero. _Could_ he avoid being shot if he made a run for it?

The short answer was _no_. Not with the sling slowing him down. Not when he was struggling to keep vision focused, in spite of the spreading ache across the back of his skull. Even knowing this, the frustration that welled deep within at his balked attempt to escape tempted him to try. He tensed, his back to the water, bare feet inches away from the edge of the embankment.

“I wouldn’t.”

The officer caught his gaze, narrowed grey eyes staring into his own with a subtle streak of malice. He smiled faintly. “If you think they won’t shoot to kill, think again. Bayushi may want you alive, but I don’t have any such desire. For me, you are merely the easiest means to an end. I can just as well explain away your death and find another way.”

_Bayushi_. The name meant nothing to Kenshin, which in itself meant little. There were likely plenty of men in the world he’d never met, with enough cause to consider him an enemy. He didn’t dwell on it; his attention had been caught by other things. The soft scuff of feet on stone. There were others here, newly arrived, fanned out in the shadows to either side. Chances of escape had just dropped from minor to nonexistent.

The officer exhaled, sending a fine plume of tobacco smoke into the air. Stared at him. Unblinking.

Kenshin sighed.

Uncurling his blood-streaked fingers, he let the chair leg fall.

“Very good.” The note of approval in the man’s voice was grating. “Now, step away from the edge.”

They moved in, then. As he took a grudging step forward, rough hands latched onto his arm, twisting it up behind his back as a second man dug fingers into his shoulder, causing him to suck breath between his teeth in pain. Between the two of them they hauled him forward, caught fast in their grip. Only then did the two riflemen relax their aim.

“Why go to all this effort?” Kenshin asked, softly. “What do you want?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” The officer flicked his cigarette onto the ground, and held his hand out to take the rifle from a man’s arms. “If this affair was entirely up to me, you would be dead by now. On the other hand, I believe Bayushi wants to have a chat with you about some history you share. I’m sure you’re familiar with that sort of thing.”

“If this Bayushi wanted to talk to me, _all he had to do was ask_!” Kenshin snarled, his voice rising as temper finally got the better of him. “There was no need to drug me senseless!”

“You’re right,” he said, agreeably. “The drug was a courtesy, and one that I will not extend.”

He saw it coming; tried to jerk away as the officer swung. The butt of the rifle slammed into the side of his head with cruel force. He was barely aware of hands letting go as he folded, tumbling forward to crash against cool stone. Somewhere above him, the officer continued speaking, a faint, distorted sound of satisfaction over the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

“That,” he said, “was for Shishio-sama.”

Fading.

Out.

\---------

Silence descended on the docks once more.

Yamato stepped on the glowing ember of his fallen cigarette and ground his foot down, extinguishing it. He handed the rifle back to its owner, and crouched beside the limp form sprawled on the ground.

It would have been interesting if he’d tried to run. Yamato couldn’t deny feeling a vague sense of disappointment that he hadn’t. In the end, however, a live Battousai was of more use, despite his own thoughts on the matter.

“Yamato-san?”

He glanced up at the diffident tone, and nodded to the man who had spoken. “We’re done. Go down to the boat and fill the merchant in. Tell him he can collect his fee as normal, but I’ll handle the transaction from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

He rolled the rurouni over unceremoniously as the man departed, and stared down into his face. The scarlet hair was streaked with blood now, strands trailing over features gone chalk white. He unsheathed his belt knife, and bent to slice along the bindings holding the right arm in place.

Yamato doubted he would present any more trouble, but he would leave nothing to chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not a nekotsuki fic unless *someone* isn't having a good time...


	17. Transition

Trust Himura to go missing in the middle of summer.

Three days Makimachi Misao had been on lookout at this particular entrance into Kyoto, looking for Kenshin or either of the men Kaoru had described. Before that, they’d gone through the city with a fine tooth comb, searching for any rumour or shred of gossip about a plot against the Battousai. So far, their efforts had turned up little.

So here she sat, perched on the rooftops above the street, sweating in the heat of the early afternoon while she watched travelers enter the city. If Senzo Karanai was indeed bringing Kenshin in from Osaka, this was the road he would arrive on. Of course, that was assuming the rurouni in question hadn’t already escaped on his own. Misao found it hard to believe he’d been kidnapped in the first place. What kind of legendary swordsman allowed a mere merchant to carry him off?

“A really, really stupid one,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

She grinned cheerfully at Omasu, before turning her eyes back to the road. They watched in pairs; easier, then, for one of them to slip away if needed. Not her first choice of partner, naturally – much as she liked the other woman, Misao had hoped Kaoru’s telegram would draw a certain, moody former Okashira from his seclusion. But Aoshi refused to be drawn, barely reacting at all to the news of Kenshin’s abduction, apart from the merest tilt of his head.

If Misao didn’t know better, she would think Aoshi didn’t give a damn. Certainly, it was the impression he would give to a stranger - but that brief inclination, that subtle angling of his chin as she told him, spoke volumes to a girl who’d watched him for much of his life. The fact that he had yet to move from his room – that she’d noticed, at least - merely told her that Shinomori Aoshi was planning something.

Whatever he was up to, she hoped he had better luck than the rest of them. Three days of watching the road in the sweltering heat without any luck was enough to try anyone’s patience, and she wasn’t known for hers to begin with. Misao was spoiling for a fight. She just needed a reason to start one.

“Misao-chan?”

She glanced at Omasu briefly, then down to where the other woman was pointing. New arrivals, and familiar ones at that.

Misao grinned.

\---------

They arrived in Kyoto in the early afternoon. Sanosuke walked slightly ahead, forging a path for them through the traffic with an impatient look on his face. Kaoru followed behind, keeping a sure grip on the sakabatou, glancing at the people they passed. Glancing beyond them, into the narrow alleys and side streets that led away from the main street, searching for the elusive trace of red hair. Granted, the chance of Kenshin casually wandering through the crowd was next to nothing. She knew this. It didn’t stop her from looking.

Behind her there was a snort of derision, and Yahiko’s foot connected with the back of her knee. She stumbled forward, catching her balance as he spoke scornfully. “Stop being so slow! If Kenshin’s here, he’s not going to be lurking around some corner spying on us.”

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, flushing with embarrassment. Ahead, Sano turned to regard her with amusement, and she glared steadily at him until he turned and sauntered onward. The altercation had caused heads to turn, and she hurried after Sano before too many people began to stare at the bruised woman clutching a sheathed sword to her chest. The last thing she needed was to be arrested for violating the sword ban.

Wilting slightly in the summer heat, she kept a tired eye on the fluttering ends of Sano’s white jacket as the former gangster chose their path, hesitating now and again before he chose a new direction. She caught the doubtful look on his face at one point, and grinned ruefully; it occurred to her that maybe they shouldn’t be letting Sanosuke lead the way to the Aoiya. His sense of direction wasn’t reassuring at the best of times.

Kaoru was searching for a semi-tactful way of telling him so when she was distracted by the sound of Yahiko’s muffled yelp, and she turned sharply to see him crashing to the ground under the weight of someone else. She reached instinctively for her bokken before it registered exactly who Yahiko’s assailant was.

“Get _off_ me, itachi musume!”

Makimachi Misao, expression caught somewhere between self-righteous indignation and grinning pleasure, pushed his face into the dirt. “Not until you apologise for kicking Kaoru-san!”

Chivalry from a pint-sized Okashira. Kaoru didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. “Misao-chan?” She was summarily ignored by both combatants, and flushed as passersby paused in the street to gaze curiously at the two rolling in the street and swapping insults.

Sanosuke was more forthright, wading into the melee to snag a length of dark braid and yank the girl up and away from Yahiko. “Much as it’s fun to beat on the kid, think you could wait until a better time?”

“It’s been a boring day.” Misao glared at him and snatched her hair back from his grasp, before turning a half-pirouette to beam at Kaoru while Yahiko struggled to his feet with a scowl. The grin faded as her gaze flicked to Kaoru’s cheek, then down to the sakabatou clasped in her hands. “I’d almost hoped you were joking.”

Kaoru blinked, and then smiled tiredly. “I wouldn’t joke about something so serious. But it’s good to see you again, Misao-chan, despite the circumstances.”

Misao smirked. “I’ve been following you, actually. You know this tori atama is off course by four streets?”

\---------

Not too long ago, Kaoru had faced Okina in much the same fashion; kneeling on a cushion next to Yahiko and asking for the whereabouts of Kenshin. It was almost eerie, how similar the situation was. The only real differences were Sanosuke’s presence, lurking in the open doorway, and the quiet desperation that she couldn’t quite keep from her voice.

She smiled at Okon as the woman served them tea, and took the cup in her hands before speaking uncertainly. “I appreciate the help you’ve given us, Okina-san. I had hoped you would have some luck...?” She trailed off, glancing at the old man hopefully.

“Very little, I’m afraid.” Okina took a sip of his tea, and met her gaze evenly. “Senzo Karanai has a home here in Kyoto, but by all accounts he hasn’t set foot in it for about three weeks. We’re watching it in case he returns, but I doubt that will happen.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Yahiko looked confused.

“By your own account, two of his men were arrested. He’s going to be keeping a low profile here in Kyoto.” Okina frowned. “What concerns me more is that we’ve seen no sign at all of their movement here – and yet their arrival should have preceded yours by two days.

“That could mean one of two things. The first is that you’ve been lied to, and that Himura was never bound for Kyoto at all.”

Kaoru blinked. That was an option that hadn’t occurred to her – and yet it really should have. The police had let the two men go without any concrete confirmation; there was nothing at all to deter Aki from lying to them. She bit her lip. If they were in entirely the wrong place—

“Aki was telling the truth,” Sano said calmly, catching and holding Kaoru’s gaze. He smiled at her, reassuringly. “The bastard took far too much pleasure in delaying us for him to have lied about the destination. What’s the other option?”

“That whoever took Himura knows enough about you that they are aware of your connections to _us_. They’ll go to painful lengths to avoid detection by any potential informant.” Okina sighed. “The people we’re dealing with are obviously very intelligent, or this situation wouldn’t have arisen in the first place. A truly cunning man could find many ways to gain entry to Kyoto unnoticed.”

“So you’re saying that your people won’t be able to find Kenshin, is that it?” Sano’s tone was deceptively mild.

“Entering the city and staying invisible within the city are two different things,” Okina countered. “All I’m saying is this will take longer than expected. And their method of operation tells us a great deal in itself.

“Consider the timing. It wasn’t so long ago that Himura defeated Shishio Makoto – and Senzo Karanai, it seems, has been out of Kyoto for three weeks. I would surmise he left for Tokyo a day or two after you did.”

“Which means...?”

“I get it,” Misao interjected. She sat cross-legged on her own cushion, stroking her chin in what Kaoru assumed was an attempt to look calculating. “It was only _after_ Himura fought Shishio, that someone hired Senzo to bring him back here.”

“Someone who knows that your group has established ties with the Oniwabanshu,” Okina added. “When you consider those facts, the list of suspects in his kidnapping shortens a great deal. Particularly when you consider that anyone capable of taking Himura Battousai by _force_ has to be at least as cunning as Himura himself. We’re certainly not dealing with a casual grudge.”

Shishio Makoto was dead, beyond any doubt. His death had been witnessed by all four men who battled him at Mt Hiei. By all accounts, Kenshin had not dealt the killing blow; Shishio’s own body had betrayed him at the last.

On the other hand, that particular detail was not widely known. Kaoru frowned. “The Juppongatana. Are they still accounted for?”

“All but Soujirou and Iwanbou.”

“Wouldn’t be the kid,” Sano mused. “He left Shishio of his own accord before we ever touched the guy.”

“I think you can rule out Iwanbou as the mastermind,” Okina said dryly. “But don’t forget: Shishio had at least five hundred men who supported him. Not all of them were arrested. And that isn’t including his own information network.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Kaoru murmured. “If this was revenge for Shishio, why not just kill him outright? And why wait so long? Kenshin was recovering from that battle for almost a _month_ , afterward. He was vulnerable. Why wait until he returns to Tokyo, before sending men to bring him back?”

“I have a better question,” Yahiko said thoughtfully. “If they’re so worried about being spotted by the Oniwabanshu, why are they coming back to Kyoto in the first place? They could have traded Kenshin off somewhere less dangerous for them. Why risk it?”

They stared at him.

“Very good point,” Okina finally said, nodding with approval. “And so we only have a piece of the puzzle. This may not be vengeance for Shishio at all, then. On the other hand, it’s a good bet that someone who was close to Shishio is involved. That affords us another avenue of investigation, at least.

“As for their choice of destination... perhaps whoever hired Senzo is anchored in Kyoto somehow. A man who can’t afford to leave? Perhaps his absence would cause too many questions. Or perhaps he’s sick.”

Kaoru stared down into her cup and sighed. There were too many questions, too much confusion – and no clear indication on whether Kenshin had even arrived. She’d hoped that the police in Osaka might have had news, but the officer waiting for them at the docks had regretfully informed them otherwise.

“Kaoru-san?”

She looked up to meet Misao’s concerned gaze, and smiled faintly. “I’m all right. Just thinking.”

Misao grinned. “Don’t worry, Kaoru-san. This is Himura we’re talking about. He’s not the kind of guy who’ll take being kidnapped without a fight! They’ll have to fight tooth and nail to keep him.”

_That’s what I’m afraid of._ Kaoru sipped her tea, and kept her worries to herself.

\---------

He’d lost track of time again; the brief moments in which he surfaced from the dull haze were too disjointed and pain-filled for him to get his bearings. The first time he twitched awake, face pressed against floorboards that rattled beneath him in movement, his attention had been entirely taken by the searing hurt that ran the length of his arm, biting deeply into his shoulder. He couldn’t feel his hands. An attempt to move, to assess the extent of his injuries, had flared the hurt into white hot agony and sent him spiraling into oblivion.

After that, there were fragments. Booted feet near his face, partly concealed by the curtain of his own red hair. The sound of horses. Cigarette smoke, thick in the air. He fought stubbornly to stay awake. His last clear memory was of rough hands dragging him carelessly across the wooden boards, before the pain dragged him under again.

Now, there were voices.

Cool fingers, with the dried out texture of paper, traced the length of the cross-scar before they tilted his head to the side and pushed hair away from the side of his head in a brisk gesture. The movement stung.

“You hit him?”

“Senzo's drug was... unavailable. I took the next best option.”

"So, probably a concussion." The hand moved away from the injury, descending instead to his shoulder, probing across the length of the collarbone. He flinched away from the touch with a sharp intake of breath as it sent pain sheeting down his arm. The fingers hesitated, then withdrew altogether.

"Yamato. His collarbone is broken."

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

The unfamiliar voice sharpened. "By itself? Not at all. Hand me your belt knife."

A moment later, Kenshin felt the sharp edge of steel pressed against his wrist, and tensed. But the knife merely sliced upward, through cord he hadn't even been aware was there. _Too unfocused._ The thought itself scattered as his wrists fell free from their bindings, and he clenched his teeth, fighting to remain conscious as pain tried to override his senses again.

From far away, he heard Yamato's curious voice. "Why do you care? Aren't you going to kill him?"

"Whether I kill him or not isn't the issue," came the flat reply. "But I will not cause unnecessary pain. It is dishonourable."

"...Yes, Bayushi-san."

_Bayushi._

Kenshin opened his eyes and stared hazily into the face of a man old enough to be his father. A man who met his weary gaze with a humourless smile..

“Himura Battousai,” the man greeted flatly. “You don’t know me, but I certainly know you. Shall we talk?”


	18. Conversation

_Shall we talk?_

Kenshin blinked, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. _How--?_ Time had vanished away from him; he remembered Bayushi’s words, spoken to him under the dim wash of candlelight. The light was far brighter now, bright enough to hurt his eyes – daylight, streaming through the thinly-spaced wooden slats of a high window on the far wall.

The room was small, and bare of any furnishings. Kenshin lay on the floor, cool timber pressed hard against his shoulders, and tried to piece together what had happened. His head... hurt. The agony of the journey here was a fresh memory, echoed now only by an insistent, dull ache that seemed to stretch all the way to the fingers of his right arm. Fingers that were resting, half-curled, on the ground. The bindings that had strapped the arm in place were gone.

_Hand me your belt knife._

He blinked again, and slowly lifted his left arm up to his face. The blood from the kunai wound had long since dried, crusted along his forearm and hand. Yamato had tied his wrists while the blood was still fresh, leaving crimson tracks that overlaid the faded welts of the cord. An efficient way to stop a man with a broken collarbone from going anywhere; with hands twisted behind his back, the tension on the shoulder must have been tremendous. Efficient, and brutal.

And Bayushi had cut him free. Considering Kenshin’s treatment thus far, it was an action entirely unexpected.

“You passed out.”

The voice took him by surprise, which was disturbing. Either Bayushi was adept at hiding his presence, or Yamato’s assault with the rifle had disrupted his concentration far more than he was comfortable with.

_Either way, I am not going to have this conversation while lying on the floor._

Kenshin took a breath and curled onto his side, wincing as his injuries protested the movement. He planted his good hand on the ground and levered himself upright, staggering slightly as he got his bearings. His legs were traitorously unsteady beneath him; in the end, he compromised by resting his weight against the wall.

Bayushi watched him rise in silence and didn’t move, standing tall and thin and still in the corner of the room. His first, blurred impression had been correct: the man was old, perhaps in his sixties. Dark hair streaked liberally with grey was held neatly back in a short ponytail. Kenshin studied him, and surmised that the man had been a swordsman for much of his life – the marks were evident in Bayushi’s still-muscular frame, his stance, and the easy way he carried the sword sheathed at his waist.

Bayushi stared back at him, brown eyes fierce in a pale face lined with age. The look in those eyes set him on alert; hatred, and satisfaction... and something else he couldn’t quite identify. The man clearly despised him. Yet, Kenshin was sure they had never met – Bayushi’s face was entirely unfamiliar to him. He was a stranger.

“You are far different from what I imagined you to be,” Bayushi said finally, breaking the long silence. “You have the cross-scar, that exotic hair. Hardly the demon of legend, otherwise.”

Kenshin eyed him warily and kept silent. It was a sentiment he’d heard before. In these circumstances he wasn’t sure how to react to it.

Bayushi made an impatient gesture. “Do you have nothing to say? Is your mind still addled?”

“I am not sure what you expect of me, Bayushi-san.” To his own ears, his voice sounded unsteady. No doubt about it, he was a mess. Kaoru was going to kill him.

“A demand to know why you are here, perhaps? Surely, you want to know.”

“I do,” he said carefully. “You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to bring me here. You said... ‘shall we talk’. You have something you want to say. I will listen.”

“Very polite,” Bayushi murmured. “I see the Ishin Shishi taught good manners to their killers, at least.”

He stiffened, and said nothing. Merely curled fingers against his side and waited for the man to continue.

“I have been told you swore a vow never to kill again.”

“Yes.”

“A vow you swore some time ago.”

“Yes.”

“How many times have you broken it?”

Kenshin blinked. “What?”

“Merely curious.” The older man’s tone was biting. “Are you just weak? Or is your vow a subterfuge, given so that people feel they can be safe around you?”

He felt the first stirrings of anger, the curl of his fingers tightening into a fist. When he spoke, however, his voice was carefully neutral. “Bayushi-san, I have never broken my vow. I will not lie – I have come close to doing so in the past – but that final step has never been taken. My vow is _not_ something I take lightly.”

“Yet you killed two people at Mt Hiei,” Bayushi replied idly, shifting on his feet and stepping away from the corner.

“No.” The denial was soft.

“You dueled Shishio Makoto to the death.” Bayushi moved with deliberate footsteps, to stand in front of him. “You went there to kill him, on behalf of the Meiji government, is this not so?”

“No,” he replied, more sharply. “I did not intend—I _never_ intended to kill Shishio Makoto.”

“And the woman?”

“Yumi-dono...” Kenshin broke off. The memory of her death was still fresh enough to hurt.

“You didn’t _intend_ to kill them, you say. So, a moment of weakness? You killed a man, and then you killed the woman who loved him.” Bayushi smiled, bitterly. “Something you’ve done before, I note.”

The accusation, the words following, froze him in shock. Bayushi was hitting nerves with his casual malice – with information he had no right knowing. He drew a breath raggedly, past the sudden hurt of resurfacing memories, and fought for the control needed to form a calm response. The older man’s words spoke of a level of knowledge of Kenshin’s past that a stranger should have no access to.

“Nothing to say. Are you shocked, or merely guilty?” Bayushi’s eyes stared into his own. His expression was unreadable.

“You’ve twisted my words,” Kenshin said, tightly. “I did not kill Shishio Makoto. Nor did I kill Komagata Yumi. Shishio himself killed her in an attempt to defeat me. It was tragic, and it should not have happened.”

“And if I believe you... who killed Shishio?”

“Shishio... fought too long. He overreached himself. His compulsion to win at all costs was what killed him, Bayushi-san. His body could not cope with the stress he put on it.”

Bayushi said nothing; merely stared into his face a moment longer before turning away, moving to the window. Kenshin studied his profile, puzzled. The older man almost looked disappointed.

“Is Yamato truly a police officer? The police should have record of the incident.”

“A record you brought down from Mt Hiei,” Bayushi replied flatly. “I have no reason to trust it.”

“So you wish revenge for Shishio Makoto?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yamato may desire vengeance,” Bayushi said, thoughtfully. “He has a debt of honour to his former lord – but his desire to remove you from the board stems more from practicality, I think.”

_Practicality?_ “Then why do you ask about Mt Hiei?”

Bayushi hesitated, then turned back to face him, expression carefully blank. “Curiosity,” he replied. “I am trying to understand you, Battousai. Why you did the things you’ve done. How you killed so many without guilt. What drives you.”

“Never without guilt,” he said in a low voice.

“So you say.”

The words were contemptuous, flung at him in challenge. Kenshin sighed. They were dancing around the point. “What do you want from me?”

“Finally, the question. What do I want?” He smiled crookedly. “I want you dead, Battousai. I want to kill you with my own hands.”

Not an answer he hadn’t been expecting. The set, bitter look on the older man’s face spoke volumes about his sincerity. And yet...

_Whether I kill him or not isn't the issue._

“Bayushi-san...” He hesitated. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days.”

“...You haven’t killed me,” Kenshin noted, mildly.

“I know.”

“Why is that?”

“I told you. I need to know why...” Bayushi broke off, mouth twisting into a scowl. He took a breath, and started again. “...what sort of man can murder so many and still sleep at night? Is that why they called you a demon? There are tales told of how you reveled in the blood you shed. There are tales told of how you _drank_ it.”

Twice now, the man had hesitated. This time, Kenshin discerned the edge to his voice; tightly controlled emotion, almost buried beneath the veneer of calm. It gave him an answer, of a sort. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle.

“I’ve taken someone close to you.”

Bayushi stiffened. Stared at him, that same expression in his eyes.

“Tell me.”

There was a long silence. Bayushi turned away from him, gazing out the window. When he finally spoke, the words were a bare murmur.

”...my son.”

There was a certain, bitter irony to that, he reflected. Senzo had managed to lure him out of the city with a claim of vengeance for one of his victims – a lie to trap him and bring him into the hands of a man who _was_ owed a debt. “What was his name?”

The reply was sharp, laced with anger. “What does it matter? You didn’t know it when you cut him down. He wasn’t one of your targets; he was just in the way. Like so many others the hitokiri Battousai slew, he was just a man in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Kenshin said nothing.

“I searched for you, years ago,” Bayushi continued. His hand clenched once, and then descended to rest on the hilt of his sword. “After you killed him. After I realised you were responsible. I would have tried for you then, but you were always in the thick of things. And then you vanished, after Toba Fushimi. I lost track of you completely.”

The sword flashed free of its sheath, catching the light briefly as Bayushi held it up to his own face, staring at the blade. He glanced back to Kenshin and smiled wryly, before letting the tip of the sword lower to the ground. “I’d all but given up on finding you, before Yamato came to tell me where you could be found.”

“Yamato.” Kenshin’s eyes narrowed. As the man was both a police officer and a former agent of Shishio, he had no doubt that his whereabouts in Tokyo had been easily traced. But... there was more to this. “He gets something out of this, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. Yamato has plans. I’ve agreed to help him, for a price... and that price has been met.” Bayushi tilted his head, gazing at him almost thoughtfully. “He’s gone now. Returned to Osaka to deal with your woman.”

Kenshin froze.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” His tone was lightly mocking. “She’s chasing you, Battousai. Senzo didn’t remove you from Tokyo without mistakes.”

_Kaoru-dono._ She wouldn’t be alone, he knew. If Kaoru had managed to trace his passage to Kyoto, Sanosuke and probably Yahiko would have come with her. Sano was reliable; likely, she would come to no harm if the former gangster had anything to say about it... but all the assurances in the world couldn’t stop his reaction to the implied threat. He narrowed his eyes and fixed the older man with a level stare. “Kaoru-dono has nothing to do with this.”

“Don’t give me that face, Battousai,” Bayushi snapped in irritation. “You’re the hitokiri in this room, not I. She won’t be touched. Yamato is merely making sure she doesn’t ask the Osaka police pointed questions about a waylaid telegram.”

Kenshin searched the other man’s face. If Bayushi wasn’t threatening her, he had certainly gone out of his way to make it sound as if he was. There was something going on here; something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Was Bayushi testing him? He glanced down to the naked blade in Bayushi’s hand, held lightly at the ready. The tip was still angled toward the ground, but it wouldn’t take much effort to strike a lethal blow.

“Yamato is protecting his own position with the police then, I assume?” His voice was determinedly casual.

“Yes.” Bayushi gazed at him a moment more, and then relented with a sigh. “Your woman will only be in danger from me should she be reckless enough to challenge me directly. Then I won’t have any choice. Does that satisfy? You should be more concerned about your own skin.”

It clicked.

“Bayushi-san,” he said, softly. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

“I told you.”

“Yes, you did. You want to ‘understand’ me. But, Bayushi-san...” He gave a faint smile, voice mild. “I don’t believe you.”

Bayushi arched an eyebrow in surprise. “I see. Why is that?”

There was hatred in those brown eyes, yes. Satisfaction. And something else. He could be wrong. He didn’t think he was.

“There is nothing I could tell you that would excuse my actions in the Bakumatsu,” he said softly. “Least of all to someone like yourself, who has lost a loved one to my blade. You know this.

“What understanding can I give you that you would accept? You question my intentions in the fight with Shishio, but you accept my explanations readily enough. That tells me you were already aware of the events that occurred at Mt Hiei. Yet you accused me of throwing away my vow to kill Shishio, to murder Yumi-dono... flung comparisons, called me a demon... You’re taunting me, Bayushi-san. You want to anger me.”

“If I did, I would be within my rights,” Bayushi snarled. His knuckles were white, fingers clenched around the hilt. Kenshin had struck a nerve. “ _You killed my son.”_

“You have a right to vengeance, I won’t deny that.” He kept his voice even, mindful of the sudden tremor of anger running through the man facing him. “Yet you hesitate to kill me, through your apparent desire to understand me. I believe you’re hesitating for a different reason.”

Bayushi smiled. Suddenly. Dangerously. “Feel free to enlighten me.”

“Your actions...” Kenshin paused, searching for the words. “You cut the rope, Bayushi-san. You were shocked at what Yamato had done. You wanted to kill me, but your first action was to cut the rope. I think you have held hatred for so many years that your bitterness has created an image for you of what the hitokiri Battousai should be – and I don’t fit the picture.”

The man opposite him had gone utterly still.

“You obviously consider yourself honourable,” Kenshin said, gently. “Cutting my hands free, assuring me of Kaoru-dono’s relative safety. I’m not what you expected, am I? For an honourable man, it’s harder to kill outside the battlefield. It’s harder still to kill a man entirely at your mercy. You’re hesitating because you do not see in me the murderer that you hate. By throwing my history in my face, do you hope to draw him out?”

Bayushi struck, then; swung the blade up with surprising speed. Sunlight flashed blindingly along its length as he flicked the blade sideways and aimed a backhand stroke at Kenshin’s throat.

Kenshin didn’t flinch. Did not so much as blink, as the sword scored a gash across the wall, splintering deeply into the timber, the edge halting a hair’s breadth from his neck. He stared across the width of the blade at the older man without rancour.

“Do _not_ mistake an unwillingness to torture for kindness, Battousai.” Bayushi hissed the words, eyes glittering with fury. He rested his free hand on the back of the blade and forced it closer, resting the edge against Kenshin’s neck. “I am not an evil man, and only an evil man would not hesitate to slay an unconscious prisoner. I could kill you here and now, and my only regret would be that I could only avenge my son’s life at the very end of my own. Don’t _ever_ presume to tell me what I’m thinking.”

He was close enough, now, for the angered hiss of his breath to fan across Kenshin’s face. Dry warmth, that smelled faintly of rot. It was enough, combined with the pallor of Bayushi’s complexion, for him to realise something else.

He closed his eyes briefly, and then lifted his chin to look the older man in the face, ignoring the sudden sting of the blade breaking his skin. “If I killed your son, then I cannot blame you for attempting my death,” he said quietly. “But I am just Himura Kenshin. You will have to kill me as I am.”

They stared at each other, inches apart, separated only by the length of steel.

Time slowed to a crawl.

“Bayushi-sama?”

The silence was shattered by the hesitant interruption. Bayushi glanced toward the door, slid open by a man Kenshin didn’t recognise. “What is it?”

The man looked decidedly nervous, glancing between the two of them. Kenshin couldn’t blame him. “The merchant is here – you said to tell you—“

“It’s all right,” Bayushi said, wearily. “Go. I will be there shortly.”

The door slammed shut, as the visitor all but ran from the room.

The older man laughed quietly, and then straightened, easing the edge of the blade away from Kenshin’s throat before yanking the tip from the wall, sending chips of wood tumbling to the ground as he sheathed the sword once more.

“Whether or not your less than healthy appearance has caused me to delay your death is moot,” he said. “My goals are not the only ones at stake here.”

His eyes traveled over Kenshin’s face once more, before he turned with a sigh and left the room.

Kenshin waited until his footsteps had faded away before he lifted a hand to his neck, and wiped away the fresh trickle of blood. A minor cut. Considering Bayushi’s original intentions, it could have been far worse.

There was more at work here than just a man’s desire for vengeance. _Practicality_. That was what Bayushi had called Yamato’s motivation. And it didn’t take a great deal of guesswork to realise that the price that had been met involved him. What had Bayushi offered in exchange?

_Practicality._

_My goals aren’t the only ones at stake here._

His death was written in those words. Whatever Yamato was intending, the officer clearly didn’t want the chance of Kenshin interfering. He had very little time.

\---------

Shinomori Aoshi opened his eyes.

He knew, without looking outside, that the sun was setting. The dark gold of its rays washed the walls of his room with an elegant fire. It was a sight Misao would have appreciated. He wasn’t likely to tell her so.

He’d heard the arrival earlier, of Kamiya Kaoru and her friends. The cheerful welcome of the staff, and the cacophony of noise as Misao and Okina had tried to outdo each other in greeting, had died swiftly enough as they got down to business. They were still sitting there now, discussing possible action and forming plans of investigation. Aoshi didn’t join them – he had nothing to contribute to their discussion.

He was waiting for other news before he acted. News, if he was not mistaken, that he was about to receive. His senses had pricked alert at the steady approach of a familiar presence. He let his eyes drift shut as he waited.

When he finally heard the measured steps draw to a halt, he rose gracefully to his feet and padded across the room barefoot, sliding the shoji open without a sound.

“Still meditating?”

The words were caustic, designed to provoke. Aoshi narrowed his eyes. “Do you have something to tell me?”

“Mm.”

He waited patiently as the man took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled and spoke. “There are two men coming to Kyoto. Their names are Aki and Hiro. The Kamiya girl can tell you what they look like.”

“When?”

“If they haven’t been delayed on the road, they should arrive tomorrow.”

Saitou Hajime, former Third Captain of the Shinsengumi and now presumed dead by the majority of people inside the Aoiya, turned his head a fraction and gave Aoshi a sardonic smile. “Nobody’s told them of your involvement. You should be able to follow them back to the merchant. That should be more than enough for you to find Battousai, don’t you think?”

Aoshi considered that a moment, and nodded slightly.

“Good.” Saitou flicked the cigarette away and turned on his heel. “Because I’ve wasted enough of my time on this venture. You can do the rest on your own.”

“Some would be surprised that you’ve given any help at all,” Aoshi said quietly.

Saitou gave a dismissive wave as he began to walk away. “Don’t think of it as helping. Battousai’s stupidity merely crossed with my own investigation. That’s all.”

Aoshi nodded again, and closed the shoji without further comment.

If Okina did not manage to find any other leads, he had a day.


	19. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: random deaths may occur. You may or may not care. (They totally deserve it, anyway.)

The hours wore on, and Bayushi did not return. Kenshin tracked the passage of time by the lengthening shadows under the window, watching the light fade away from the day with a hooded gaze. He sat against the wall, supported his right arm across raised knees, and waited.

There were guards on the other side of the door. Occasionally he could hear them, conversing in low voices. He heard his own name more than once, spoken with a nervous edge. They brought him water just before sunset, setting it just inside the room, glaring suspiciously at him the entire time. In other circumstances, Kenshin could have found their wariness amusing. Instead, he barely acknowledged their entry, sunk in the mire of his own confused thoughts.

Bayushi was owed a debt, that much was certain. Despite Senzo’s underhanded trickery and Yamato’s rough treatment, he found he couldn’t blame the older man for his decision to bring him here.

On the other hand, Kenshin wasn’t willing to calmly accept his death, either.

Which complicated matters, to say the least.

His words had hit the mark, he knew – faced with a wounded and unconscious enemy, Bayushi had balked at killing him outright. Hardly the demon of legend, indeed. Ironic that the injuries inflicted on his way to Kyoto were likely the reason he was still alive.

Bayushi might find his desire for execution diminished, but he also couldn’t afford to let Kenshin go. Not if he’d made a deal with Yamato. And Yamato had certainly made his own desires clear enough. He would return to Kyoto, eventually. What then? And the question he always seemed to come back to: what did Yamato gain from handing him to Bayushi, apart from an indirect sort of vengeance for Shishio Makoto?

Kenshin sighed. If given the chance, he would ask. After all, it was possible that Bayushi would want to finish their interrupted conversation before he made any decision.

For now, he would concentrate on simpler matters.

The water he drank slowly, unwilling to risk his uneasy stomach rejecting it. He saved a portion and set about gingerly cleaning the crusted blood from the kunai wound. It was an awkward and painful task, given the enforced usage of his bad arm – the best he could do was moisten the skin and smooth the blood away with careful fingers. His attempt was too late, in any case. The wound Yoshida had given him was short in length but deep, and the edges were an angry red against the stark pallor of his skin. Infection had begun to set in. Unsurprising, when one considered the amount of time it had gone untended.

He smiled humourlessly. The revelation didn’t concern him much, comparatively. His situation was likely to be resolved one way or the other before the injury could complicate things further. Either Bayushi would return to kill him, or Yamato if the older man found he could not, and he would see just how capable he was of fighting for his life in his current condition...

...or the Oniwabanshu would find him. Because logically, if Kaoru and the others _had_ come to Kyoto, they would go to the Aoiya for help in tracking him down.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that – on one hand, the situation was far too volatile for him to feel comfortable about the involvement of his friends. Particularly as Bayushi already knew that they were here. The idea that Kaoru, or Yahiko, or anyone else he cared about could get hurt trying to help him, wasn't one he was able to stomach.

On the other hand, he couldn’t deny that the possibility of assistance from the Oniwabanshu was a heartening thought. Unless he managed to free himself in the meantime – and with armed and wary guards at the door, he suspected an escape attempt was unlikely to work – he was going to need the help, much as it might hurt his dignity to admit it.

One option or the other. And very little that Kenshin himself could accomplish, for the moment. So he waited patiently, biding his time, conserving his strength.

\---------

The bruises from Senzo’s broken nose were fading now; were almost invisible, compared to the mottled black across his chin and jaw where the chair leg had hit him. Kenshin, once again, had distinctly _not_ been gentle. The look of banked fury in those violet eyes was a memory the merchant would carry with him into sleepless nights for weeks to come.

Still, he was not the type of man to hold grudges, particularly when he was honest enough to admit that he’d well deserved the rurouni’s anger. The fee he was promised more than made up for the discomfort he was currently feeling, in any case. Senzo could sell silk and flowers for another year and still not earn the same amount Bayushi had paid him.

He’d dared to ask after Kenshin yesterday, when he visited Bayushi to collect the other half of his fee. Curiosity had provoked his enquiry, along with the half-flustered look the old man wore when he entered the room. The response he received was expected. A flat glare. A reprimand. _That is not for you to ask._ The message was clear: the rurouni’s welfare was no longer any of his concern.

Shame, really.

He was in the process of lighting candles for the evening when there was an unexpected knock at the door. Senzo straightened with a frown. The only people who knew where he was currently residing were Yoshida and his men – and as far as he was aware, none of them were due to return for some time.

Had someone found him after all? He stooped to pick his shinai up from its resting place on the futon and approached his door tentatively. “Who is it?”

The voice that answered was familiar, and entirely unexpected. He blinked at the muffled words, and unlocked the door, easing it open enough to peer at the two men standing on his doorstep. Aki and Hiro. Men he hadn’t expected to see here, of all places. He raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“Much as I am delighted that you have been freed, I shall be very curious as to how you managed it,” he said pleasantly. “A deal? Can I expect the ever respectable police to pay me a visit in a few moments?”

“We’ve led nobody here, Senzo-san,” Hiro replied in subdued tones. His voice had improved over the past week, which was a blessing. Senzo had always preferred talking to Hiro out of the two. More levelheaded, and capable of better conversation by far. “Apologies... the police were told of your general destination, but that was all. They let us go when we mentioned Kyoto.”

“And they freed you on the strength of narrowing down my whereabouts to a large city?” Senzo’s tone was dry. “I see.”

He peered past them to the narrow street and searched the gathering darkness for potential trouble. Finding nothing, he glanced back to them and sighed.

“Ah, well... I suppose you’d better come in before you _do_ attract attention.”

He opened the door for them and gestured inside with a flourish, noting with mild amusement the abashed shuffle of their feet. Like a pair of errant children, they were; aware of his displeasure and trying their best to look suitably guilty. He believed them; there was nothing nervous in their presence, and neither of them had ever been creditable actors.

That didn’t explain why the police had allowed them to walk away. Not for such a relatively useless piece of information. Something else was afoot; he considered the potential involvement of Yamato for a moment, and then discarded the idea. Yamato may have been likely to have their throats slit in a cell, but he certainly wouldn’t attempt to pull strings for their freedom. Yet he couldn’t think of another soul with ties to the police who would want the two of them to walk free.

He moved back to the table, returning to his task of lighting the room, resting the shinai loosely against his shoulder. “I expect you’re looking for Yoshida-kun. He will be most happy to hear of your release, once he returns. I believe he has business elsewhere in Kyoto for the moment. Provided you don’t attract attention to yourselves, you are most welcome to wait for him.”

“And our fee?” From Aki this time, sullen as always.

“Yoshida has his share already,” he replied patiently. “You know our agreement. He pays you, not I.”

The merchant set the third candle down, and jumped as there was a quiet knock, yet again, at the door. He narrowed his eyes. So soon after the arrival of his two surprise guests?

The handle was tested once, with a quiet rattle.

Then the door crashed inward, splintering under the weight of a small, lithe figure. A stranger, unsheathed tanto in hand, who scanned the room in a brief second, fixed his dark eyes on Senzo, and with a controlled sweep of his free arm sent a glittering arc of metal whining across the room.

Senzo stood frozen in shock, fingers slack on the shinai in his hand. _Someone' s trying to kill me?_ Belatedly he realised that some sort of attempt to defend his life should be in order, but by then it was too late. It was only with the intervention of Hiro, hurtling into him and sending them both crashing to the ground, that the shuriken missed their target. Aki leapt across the room with a snarl, sword in hand as the would-be assassin ducked inside the door.

The impact with the ground drove the air from Senzo’s lungs. He gasped under the weight of the other man, barely registering the clang of steel as Aki was parried effortlessly. He was more concerned with his lopsided view of the open doorway; his assailant hadn’t come alone; two more figures made an entrance, coming straight for them. Ludicrously, the only thought in his head was: _that’s the second door I’ve lost._ And then Hiro was rising, hauling him up by the shoulder of his kimono and shoving him away towards the back of the room, drawing his own sword with pale calm.

Senzo staggered at the force of the shove, and turned back in confusion, hands gripping his shinai with more assurance as his mind started working through the shock. He was just in time to see the first man catch Aki’s sword barehanded, wrench the blade upward and drive his tanto through Aki’s throat.

Blood fountained as the blade was jerked free of flesh. A small sound escaped Hiro as the body dropped bonelessly to the ground. For a moment, Senzo thought with horror that the death of his brother would cause the swordsman to drop his guard and get them both killed; but Hiro maintained his deathly calm, keeping on the defensive, barely managing to hold the blades of two attackers back. A level of skill that he wouldn’t be able to maintain for long. If Aki and Hiro were outclassed – and he had to assume they were, given the ease with which Aki had fallen – then he, Senzo Karanai, would be no match for them at all.

“Senzo-san.” Hiro snapped. “ _Run_.”

Senzo didn’t need to be told twice. White-faced, he whirled on his feet and bolted out the door leading to the rear of the dwelling. If he was lucky, Hiro would hold them off long enough for him to escape to the back alley. He would mourn the man’s death, of course – but such grief was only possible if he managed to survive.

He rounded the corner of the hallway, running for the door – and barely stopped himself from shrieking as a fourth man materialised between the merchant and freedom. Clearly, they’d counted on him fleeing. He skidded to a halt, nearly losing his footing in his attempt not to collide with the man advancing on him with measured steps. Behind him he heard the unmistakable sound of a body falling. Hiro was dead. There was no going back. Quite possibly, he was going to die here.

On the other hand, the man before him didn’t seem armed. Senzo brought his shinai up, swinging for the man’s face. One good strike – _just one_ – and he might stun the man at least long enough for the merchant to get past him.

His attack was too panic-driven to be effective. The man evaded the wild swing easily, reached out to snag Senzo’s wrist and snapped his hand backward. Now he _did_ shriek. The shinai dropped from nerveless fingers as he was yanked forward and thrown into the wall.

The impact, and the agony of his broken wrist, caused him to slide toward the ground. His attacker didn’t let him fall; hands deftly settling the thin wire of a garrotte around his neck, hauling him upright with a strangled whimper. He clawed at the wire with his uninjured hand, dimly aware that he could still hear the sounds of fighting from the front room. Odd, when Hiro had already fallen. Hadn’t he?

And then, there was silence.

“Let him go.”

The words were cold, but authoritative. There was a pause, the quiet broken only by the stuttered sound of Senzo’s struggle to breathe.

Then the garrotte dropped away from his throat. He slid to the ground and stayed there, shaking with relief. Someone had arrived to save his life. He turned his head in the direction of the voice, and saw yet another man, several feet away, that he didn’t recognise.

A tall one, clothed almost entirely in black, dark hair barely long enough to brush the nape of his neck. There was a cut trailing fresh blood on his cheek, but that was the only mark on him, which spoke of a great deal of skill in itself, considering the man had just come through the front room. His green eyes flicked a brief, distant glance to the shivering merchant, then back to the man he’d directed his words to.

Senzo had no idea who he was. His attacker, however, apparently did.

“Shinomori Aoshi,” the man said evenly. “What have you done with my men?”

_Shinomori Aoshi?_ He knew that name—

“What was necessary,” Aoshi said quietly. “I don’t know what you want with the merchant, but I have a prior claim on him. I give you one chance to leave.”

Shinomori Aoshi, reputedly one of the men that had assisted Battousai in defeating Shishio Makoto. Bayushi had told him as much. A prior claim? Then this wasn’t a rescue. Senzo struggled to his knees, heart hammering in his chest, as his assailant snarled and charged the onetime Okashira.

It was very quick. Aoshi evaded the punch and thrust one kodachi forward, puncturing flesh to impale the man through the shoulder. The man grunted in pain, twisting a hand up to latch onto the metal as Aoshi reversed his grip on his free blade and cracked the hilt into his jaw.

Senzo finally managed to stand, weaving on his feet, as the last of the would-be assassins slid to the floor. His tone was almost mournful. “You’re not killing him?”

He regretted the words as soon as he’d spoken them. Green eyes snapped to meet his immediately, unsettlingly direct.

“Senzo Karanai.” The words were cool, as he flicked the blood from the kodachi. “Where is Himura Battousai?”

The door to the alley, standing open, was not so far away; Senzo turned and ran for the darkness outside. Aoshi made no move to follow him, which was surprising – until a bandaged hand snaked out of the gloom as he cleared the threshold, bunching in the front of his kimono and hauling him off his feet with a yelp.

“Yo, flower-seller.” Sagara Sanosuke bared his teeth in a feral smile, face inches away from the merchant’s own. “Remember me?”

And after that, there seemed to be only one option left to him; one he was quite willing to take, not being a particularly brave man.

Senzo Karanai fainted.


	20. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No walls were harmed during the writing of this chapter
> 
> ...also there are threats of torture here but they're more by insinuation and nothing actually happens

“So let me get this straight...”

Sanosuke peered at the merchant, dangling limply from his tight-fisted grip, with an almost horrified fascination.

“...You’re the bastard who managed to kidnap the best swordsman in all of Japan... and you run into me, and you _faint?_ Oi!” He shook the smaller man back and forth like a ragdoll. “Wake up! I’ve got something I wanna say to you!”

There was no response. Sano shook him again, and cursed. “I can’t believe this. No way Kenshin got taken by someone so weak.”

“Shock.”

“What?”

Aoshi finished sheathing his kodachi before he looked up, staring at the merchant analytically. “His wrist is broken and two of his men are dead. Senzo Karanai is no warrior. He pays others to fight for him.” He gave a quiet shrug. “Shock.”

“Most I’ve heard you say all day,” Sano muttered. Predictably, there was no response. Aoshi merely inclined his head slightly and spun on his heel, heading back to the front room. Sano sighed, and shifted Senzo’s weight across his shoulder, trailing along behind.

It had been a _very_ long day. The weather was ridiculously hot, and what had he been doing since morning? Sitting on a damn roof and playing spot-the-henchman for the taciturn Aoshi. They needn’t have bothered wasting the entire day doing so; Aki and Hiro had come skulking through the gate at sunset – and while they clearly took pains to make sure they weren’t being followed on the road, they never once had the sense to look up. Just as well, considering; Sagara Sanosuke wasn’t a man used to sneaking around on roof tops.

He still wasn’t sure how Aoshi knew they were coming to Kyoto. The former Okashira had been tight-lipped on the subject. Had, in fact, said almost nothing to Sanosuke at all during the day, even after they’d begun their stealthy trailing of Senzo’s men.

Except for the word _wait,_ when the two men had entered Senzo’s home, and it became abundantly clear that Aoshi and Sano weren’t the only two people interested in the merchant’s welfare, as others emerged from the shadows. And when the door had been kicked in, they’d separated – Aoshi to interrupt the fighting and try to preserve the life of the man with the information they needed, and Sano to make sure the merchant couldn’t run.

A surprisingly effective plan, even if it did irritate Sano no end that they’d had to save Senzo’s life. As far as he was concerned, the merchant certainly didn’t deserve the assistance... but they’d had little choice. If Senzo had died, their search for Kenshin would be back to square one.

_Something I’m thinking these idiots were counting on._ He stepped carefully over the body of a stranger, sprawled across the threshold of the door to the hallway, and rounded the corner into the front room. Aoshi was down on one knee by the blood-spattered wall, turning a throwing star carefully over in his fingers. Sano winced as he looked over the carnage. Five men down. At least three of them were unmistakably dead.

“The other guy knew who you were,” he said thoughtfully.

Aoshi glanced at him, and stood, tossing the shuriken lightly onto the table before turning for the door in silence.

“You know who they were?”

The other man paused briefly, and then nodded once.

\---------

“This is the guy who ran off with Himura?”

Misao shook her head in skepticism, dabbing blood away from Aoshi’s cheek with a clean cloth. How he just sat there patiently and let her pamper the cut on his face with such enthusiasm, Sano would never know. He gave a shrug.

“It’s him.”

She gave a snort. “I don’t know what Himura was thinking, losing to something like _that_. I mean, look at his face! Does this look like the sort of guy who’d run circles around the legendary Battousai?”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Misao,” Okina said with amusement, arriving in the room with a covered tray and closing the shoji behind him. “You of all people should know that.”

“Besides,” Sano added, “Kenshin gave this guy at least half of those bruises. Wouldn’t be surprised if the other half came from him as well.” He grinned. “But I’ll be sure to tell him how much faith you had in him, ne?”

They were all here. Kaoru stood with her hands on Yahiko’s shoulders, staring at their unwilling guest thoughtfully. Aoshi, being tended (or attacked, depending on which way you looked at it) by Misao in the corner.

Sano crouched down to look the merchant in the face. Senzo was awake, now, sitting carefully against the wall and cradling his wrist. None too happy about the circumstances he found himself in, but Sano didn’t give a damn.

“So, I’m sure you’re aware we just saved your life,” he said casually. “And even if you hadn’t drugged our friend, that means you owe us. Wanna pay up?”

“I always pay my debts, if I can,” the merchant replied, voice worn. His eyes flicked from person to person, measuringly. “And I do appreciate the time you took away from sneaking after my men to assist me. Perhaps you could be more specific as to what you want?”

Nervous the man might be, but his tongue was still sharp. Sano scowled at him. “You know damn well what we want. Where’s Kenshin?”

“I cannot say.” Senzo gave a crooked smile. “Alas, the last time I saw Himura-san, he was breaking a chair over my head in an attempt to escape my company. He was at least partially successful. I haven’t seen him since.”

“He escaped?” Kaoru’s question was immediate and hopeful. Senzo opened his mouth to answer her, caught the dark glare on Sano’s face, and apparently thought better of his original words. He swallowed, and tried again.

“It was a valiant attempt, I’m told. He was taken into custody by another, and thus he was no longer my responsibility.”

“Where’s Kenshin?” Sano repeated.

“I don’t know.”

“You were hired to abduct Himura Battousai,” Aoshi interjected, flatly. “Your employer would not have paid you the full fee on such a dangerous contract beforehand. Where did you collect your money?”

Sano caught a flicker in the merchant’s eyes. Fear? Stubbornness?

“Senzo-san.” Okina, now, moving to stand beside Sano’s crouched form. “I don’t see why you refuse to tell us. Did not your employer send assassins after you this evening? Why do you protect him?”

“My employer would not try to kill me,” Senzo snapped. “He considers himself an honourable man.”

“Right.” Sano grinned, sourly. “And he hired you to what, drug and kidnap a guy? That’s real honourable, flower-seller. So if he didn’t, who did?”

“How should I know?” he protested. “I never saw those people before in my life!”

“Fair enough.” Sano glanced at Aoshi, who gave a careful nod. “So then, does the name Shishio Makoto mean anything to you?”

Senzo flinched.

“Because the guys who attacked you used to work for him. You know who they’d be working for now?”

“...yes.” The merchant looked down at his swollen wrist, then took a deep breath, smiling bitterly. “Yamato Dayu.”

“Well, _now_ we’re getting somewhere,” Sano drawled. “He try to kill you to shut your mouth? Who is this guy?”

“A man who thinks I’ve made too many mistakes, I’m sure,” Senzo murmured. He looked up again. “He’s a police officer in Osaka, although his true allegiance is obviously elsewhere.”

“...police officer?” Kaoru echoed, an odd tone to her voice. “What did he look like?”

Senzo gave her a knowing look. “Ran into him, did you? Brown hair, grey eyes? A little taller than me?”

“That’s gotta be him...” Yahiko said in disbelief. Sano turned to look at him sharply, and the kid shrugged. “While you were off getting lunch, we spoke to a cop.”

“He told us the police in Osaka were still looking for you,” Kaoru said steadily, eyes on the merchant. “And that there had been no sign of you making port.’

Senzo smiled pleasantly. “Well, dear lady, I can assure you he lied. He does have a career to protect, after all. You should count yourself lucky that misleading you was all he did—“

He broke off, white-faced, as Sano’s fist slammed into the wall beside his head.

“We’re not interested in whether you think she’s _lucky,_ ” he snarled. “If this Yamato guy isn’t the one who hired you, what’s he have to do with Kenshin?”

“Who knows?” Senzo waved a hand in exasperation. “Revenge for Shishio, perhaps? I don’t ask these things. I do know that he hates your Himura-san with a passion. And considering Yamato is the one who prevented his escape and brought him to Kyoto, you should be more interested in letting me finish what I have to say. The man is a ruthless killer.” He nodded to Kaoru. “I’ve no doubt that if you had attempted to visit the Osaka station after talking with him, you wouldn’t be standing here now.”

“That’s debatable,” Sano muttered.

“He has more support than you realise,” Senzo countered, and shifted an accusing gaze to Aoshi. “You should have killed those men when you had the chance. They’ll go back to him to report failure.”

“That is your problem,” Aoshi said, coolly.

“And yours,” he shot back. “He’ll go to the man who hired me and convince him to have Himura-san moved. Then nothing I tell you will be of any help.”

“So you do know where he is, then?” Okina’s voice was mild.

Senzo shut his mouth with a snap.

“Spit it out, merchant,” Sano demanded. “Before I lose my temper.”

\--------

In the end, he told them.

It wasn’t Sano’s threats of violence that drew the information from him. Rather, when Okina set the tray he had been carrying down on the table and gravely asked Misao to escort Kaoru and Yahiko from the room, the merchant’s imagination had apparently carried him places he did not want to go. Particularly when the old man had removed the covering from the tray with a solemn gesture and finished his request with the words, _women and children should not see this._

Sano had no idea whether Okina had been bluffing or not; thankfully, he didn’t have to find out. Before the old man had even touched the contents of the tray, Senzo had given them a name. It was all they needed, as it turned out.

“Bayushi Mitsuharu.” Aoshi was drawing his gloves on as Okina spoke. Senzo had been forcibly escorted from the room. “He lives here in Kyoto. A wealthy man who carries a fair influence in certain circles. He’s withdrawn from the public eye in the past six months. It is believed that he is ill.”

“You know where this guy lives, then?” Yahiko asked eagerly.

Okina smiled cheerfully at the boy. “Of course.”

Beside him, Kaoru uttered a small sound of relief. Sano grinned, slapping a hand on her shoulder. “Then all we have to do is punch in a few heads and take Kenshin back, right?”

“Wrong.” They turned to look at Aoshi in confusion. “You should stay here. This is a job better suited to the Oniwabanshu.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Sano practically snarled. “These guys have been screwing us around since Tokyo, and they have _our_ friend, and you want us to stay out of it? Like hell.”

“You’re not thinking it through,” Aoshi said quietly. “Bayushi is a wealthy man. His estate is large. We don’t know where he will be keeping Battousai, and we still don’t know what he wants. If we attack at the front gates, what will he do? Run? Will he take Battousai with him? Use him as a hostage? Kill him?

“According to the merchant, he tried to escape and was stopped by Yamato Dayu. In his own words, a ruthless killer who hates Battousai with a passion.” His eyes flicked to Kaoru briefly, before turning back to Sano. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “He may not be in a position to defend himself from any of these possibilities.”

_In other words, too badly hurt. Or drugged out of his mind._ Sano winced at the possibilities, although a small part of him was mildly amused at Aoshi’s phrasing. It was almost as if the man was trying to be... tactful.

“Aoshi is right,” Okina mused. “It is better for the Oniwabanshu to try and locate him quietly. We can take him from the premises before anyone is the wiser.”

“You don’t know that,” Kaoru said, face pale. Sano had no doubt she was well aware of what Aoshi had tried not to say. “None of us are useless, and you might need the extra numbers.”

Aoshi turned to stare at her, eyes settling deliberately on the bruise, still fading from her cheek.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” she said furiously, jabbing a finger up at his chest. “You can’t stop us from going. _I have to give him back his sword_.”

“Kaoru-san...” Misao’s voice was almost a squeak.

There was a long silence, drawn out in surreal fashion for those watching the unlikely pair try to stare each other down.

Eventually, it was Kaoru that looked away from that piercing gaze, frustration etched clearly on her features. Sano wondered uneasily if she was going to cry.

“We’ll split into two groups,” Aoshi said, mildly. Kaoru’s head shot back up. “Give us time to find Battousai. If need be, you can cause a distraction at the gates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile...  
> Bayushi: I’m going to kill you.  
> Kenshin: No, you’re not.  
> Bayushi: I’m not? How do you know?  
> Kenshin: Dramatic prerogative, and a healthy dose of cheesy anime psychoanalysis which probably doesn’t make a lot of sense if you look too closely.  
> Bayushi: Ssh! You’ll get the author in trouble.  
> Kenshin: Meh. She deserves it.  
> Bayushi: Anyway, with that sort of logic, I guess I’m outta here. Good night, Kenshin. Sleep tight. Most likely kill you in the morning.  
> Kenshin: Can we stop with the Princess Bride quotes?  
> Bayushi: Probably not.


	21. The Gathering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who only had access to the dub, the Rengoku is the Japanese name for Shishio's battleship, the Purgatory

A week ago, if someone had told him that his first reaction upon finally seeing his son’s killer would be compassion, Bayushi would have laughed.

He’d hated Himura Kenshin for a very long time, now. Hatred fueled by grief, an unfulfilled desire for vengeance, and a hot anger that only grew over time as his attempts to find him met with failure. This last year, his anger had given way to bitterness as certain issues about his health were made known to him, and he realised he was going to run out of time. The worst shame of all, that he would likely die before he could avenge the death of his son. Before he could even so much as spit in the killer’s face.

Yamato Dayu’s appearance at his door, a month ago, had been a blessing. A police officer from Osaka, who had acted as both informant and communications man for Shishio Makoto. He had introduced himself as such, readily. A man who had been totally loyal to his former lord, and found himself adrift after his death. _In this_ , he’d said, _we have something in common._

And then he’d offered the deal. Yamato knew he was dying, that he had no family to survive him. Knew what he had yet to achieve. He had named terms; he would assist him in locating the hitokiri Battousai and dealing with him however Bayushi saw fit. In return, a request. Bayushi was a man of wealth and influence. Yamato wanted access to both. He’d given his reasons. Bayushi had accepted.

From there, it was easy – or at the very least, it should have been. Himura Kenshin had been brought to him. By rights, he should have walked into the room, confronted the hitokiri about his son and then run him through. Simple. Quick.

He hadn’t expected the man to look so _young._ Or so fragile, with blood matting scarlet hair to the side of his face, and disoriented violet eyes that managed to hold his gaze for the briefest of moments, before he’d lost his fight with the darkness.

Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought that he would turn and walk away, leaving a prisoner very much alive behind him. Not once, but twice. Bayushi wasn’t altogether sure that he would have killed him the second time, even if he _hadn’t_ been interrupted by Senzo’s arrival.

_Damn him._

He was furious; with Yamato, for bringing the man here in such a battered state, providing an opening for sympathy that should never have existed. With Kenshin, for shrewd and compassionate words that had complicated matters further... and with himself, for letting those words turn him from his chosen path. He would not allow himself to be stalled again. Aside from the deal he’d struck with Yamato, to let the hitokiri live would turn his long quest for revenge into a mockery and make his final years meaningless.

Despite his resolution, however, it was a full day before Bayushi steeled himself to return to the room.

The two men he’d assigned to guard duty were relaxed, talking quietly to each other opposite the door. Given their nervousness the previous day, he assumed this was indication that Kenshin was asleep. They straightened and bowed to him as he approached, and he nodded in quiet greeting as one unlocked the door.

The loose fall of red hair caught the light that filtered into the dark room, as Bayushi eased the door open. He was nestled in the corner, supporting his right arm across his knees, head resting against the adjoining wall. Either sleeping, or pretending to. It didn’t really matter.

He stepped into the room fully, and stopped as his foot nudged unexpectedly into an object by the door. He held out a hand in request, and swung the lantern, handed to him by a guard, around to inspect the floor. A fresh pitcher of water; a small bowl of rice, long gone cold. Both would have been brought in at sunset, at his order. He frowned – by his own calculation, Kenshin hadn’t eaten in days. Yamato certainly wouldn’t have fed him on the journey here. For the redhead to ignore the meal, something had to be amiss.

_It doesn’t matter._ He closed the door quietly behind him, irritated that he’d felt even the briefest flash of concern. What difference did it make, if the man curled in the corner had fallen ill?

_None at all._

Nevertheless, he hesitated before lowering the lantern to the ground, staring at the pale features of Kenshin’s face, all but hidden by the fire of his hair. Asleep, he looked even younger – hard to believe he was anything more than a boy in his teens, until one looked at the cross-scar on his cheek and remembered the history that lay behind it.

Bayushi curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword, took a breath, and drew it free from the sheath with quiet calm. The scrape of metal prompted a reaction from his prisoner. Slender fingers twitched, then curled in on themselves as the sound of a weapon being drawn infused the man’s awareness. Yet, for all his swordsman’s instincts, it was still several seconds before Kenshin lifted his head from the wall’s support, blinking hazily in the light.

“You are slow this evening,” Bayushi said softly. “I could have killed you several times over.”

For a man still surfacing from the depths of sleep, his response was unsettlingly direct. Violet eyes flicked to the blade in his hand, and then up to his face, quizzically.

“Why didn’t you?”

The question was gentle, and stripped of any possible mockery. It angered him all the same. “Would you prefer I gutted you in your sleep?” he snapped.

“I’d prefer you didn’t kill me at all, Bayushi-san,” Kenshin replied with a dry note to his voice. “But that is hardly my choice to make.”

Bayushi’s lip curled. “You plead for your life?”

“I state a fact,” he corrected, mildly.

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Kenshin made no move to stand, although the still poise with which he held himself inclined Bayushi to believe he was prepared for an attack. On the other hand, it would surely be easier to defend himself on his feet – and Kenshin had fought against high discomfort to stand previously. He took time to examine the angular face more fully, and this time noted the faint flush across the cheekbones, and the glassy quality to the redhead’s gaze. He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re sick,” he accused.

Kenshin blinked in startlement, and then smiled tiredly. “A little. Does it matter?”

_Does it?_ His fingers clenched on the hilt at the question, but rather than answer, he angled the blade upward in a fluid motion, tip settling at the hollow of Kenshin’s throat. “Stand up.”

Kenshin inclined his head once, before uncurling from the corner and rising slowly to his feet, left hand resting on the wall for support, eyes on Bayushi’s face. The tip of the sword traced his ascent; holding close to the former hitokiri’s throat as he leaned against the timber and shifted his hand to brace his right arm. The movement was graceful enough – but Bayushi hadn’t missed the brief dizziness that swayed his frame as he stood.

Nor did he miss the state of his arm. He struggled with himself for a moment, then scowled as he gave in to his first impulse. The blade dropped back to his side as his free hand shot out, snatched Kenshin’s arm by the wrist and yanked it forward for a closer inspection, ignoring the smaller man’s flinch. The flesh beneath his fingers was uncomfortably warm to the touch. Fever, then. Irritation swept through him again. _It shouldn’t matter._ There was no logic to it. Why be concerned about the condition of a man he was here to kill?

“You didn’t tell me this injury was infected,” he said flatly.

“...When last we spoke, I was unaware, Bayushi-san,” Kenshin murmured after a moment, glancing at him oddly. He hesitated, then continued in soft tones, gaze dropping down to the sword gripped in Bayushi’s hand. “Given the circumstances, I am not sure why it matters. You did return this evening to kill me, did you not?”

An echo of his own thoughts – coming from the redhead, however, he found himself curiously reluctant to agree. Bayushi let go of his arm, staring at him angrily. And knew then what his next actions would be, despite any desire he might have had to the contrary. The situation wasn’t... right.

He took a step back, and sheathed the sword. At least he could take a measure of satisfaction in the surprised look that crossed fleetingly on Kenshin’s face. He smiled, bitterly. This time, there was no interruption he could blame for his decision. No doubt about it, he was the worst kind of fool.

“There is food here, and water,” he said. “I assume you were asleep when it arrived. I suggest you eat.” He turned on his heel, placing a hand on the door before he added quietly, “I will have someone treat your arm.”

“Bayushi-san.”

Not questioning. Merely a polite statement of his name. He glanced back, and caught the look of grave courtesy Kenshin gave him. “Thank you.”

“This changes nothing,” he snapped. “There is no pride to be found in killing you as you are, and I won’t have you die slowly in the meantime.”

“I understand,” was the soft reply.

“You don’t,” he retorted, and left the room.

How could he understand, when Bayushi himself could think of no excuse for walking away a third time?

\---------

He had a visitor waiting for him in the study. Still dressed in his uniform, a cigarette tapping idly against the arm of the leather chair, unlit. The look on his face was calm enough; nevertheless, Bayushi sighed. He knew precisely what would have drawn the man here.

“Yamato,” he greeted, closing the door behind him. “I was not expecting you to return to Kyoto so soon.”

“I arrived this afternoon. I would have visited earlier, but I had an errand to run.” His tone was overly casual. “The servants tell me you were visiting your... guest. Tell me, how does he fare?”

Bayushi stared at him levelly. “I don’t believe that is your concern anymore.”

“I disagree,” Yamato replied. “Battousai’s survival concerns me a great deal, Bayushi-san.” The cigarette continued its incessant tapping. “Shishio-sama was a very intelligent man worthy of great respect, but he made one simple mistake. Do you know what it was?”

At Bayushi’s raised eyebrow, he smiled faintly. “He gave in to his pride. Allowing Himura Battousai to come to Kyoto and challenge him lead to the destruction of the Rengoku and, consecutively, his downfall.

“Had he merely arranged to assassinate the man once his location in Tokyo was discovered – before Okubo ever came to ask his assistance – Battousai would never have been able to interfere with his plans at all. Tokyo would be lawless, certain politicians here would be dead and Shishio-sama would be very much alive today, pushing his agenda to its limit.”

“Provided the assassination was successful. I am certain he has defended himself against such before.”

“Even the legendary Battousai can be taken by surprise with enough planning,” the officer countered. “Senzo Karanai is proof of that. Your ‘guest’ has his weak points, just like anyone else... but I digress. I ask you, Bayushi-san: is it your pride that keeps him alive?”

“If it is, that is _still_ none of your concern, Yamato,” Bayushi said, steadily. “The terms of our agreement have been met. You have brought him to me, to deal with _as I see fit_. In return, I will assist you, as promised. Let it go.”

“I can’t.” Yamato’s smile was tight, gazing up to the paintings on the wall. “Do you understand that the first and best way you have of assisting me is to kill him?”

“You tell me nothing I am unaware of,” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “Don’t presume to condescend, and listen before you open your mouth. I have no intention of letting him live, let alone go free to harass you.”

Yamato halted the cigarette’s movement, curling it instead into his palm, and smiled, bowing his head in apology. “My apologies. I don’t mean to offend... but you understand how much is at stake here. Your delays concern me, Bayushi-san. You are not having second thoughts?”

“Not at all.” Away from the enigmatic redhead, it was easier to order his thoughts. He made an effort to explain. “As he is now, I doubt he could make even a pretense at defending himself. A man should be given the chance, no matter who he is.”

“As he is now?” Yamato repeated, incredulous. “Bayushi-san, if you’re referring to his arm, I should point out that even with a broken collarbone, Battousai fought his way off a fully manned fishing vessel. Did you think the bruises on the merchant’s face were because he tripped and fell? You should not take him lightly.”

“Take into account other factors,” Bayushi retorted. “Your treatment of him, as an example. You hit him hard enough to lay him out for days, Yamato. Add to that a lack of food, and infection, and it’s not surprising he’s ill.”

“You almost sound as if you disapprove.” The officer looked faintly amused.

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t. You hired Senzo to kidnap an intelligent and highly skilled swordsman and drag him halfway across the country.” Yamato smiled. “If you expected the merchant to retain a hold on him, you have no right to complain. His condition, ultimately, is your responsibility.”

Which was the point of the matter, really. Bayushi turned away, expressionless. Was it compassion that he felt, or guilt? Did it change anything?

“You speak of giving him a chance to defend himself,” Yamato continued smoothly. “Whether that be from a sense of pride, or responsibility, or even an ideal of honour... you were ruthless enough to bring him this far, Bayushi-san. To speak of such things now is pointless.

“In any case, you refer to the hitokiri Battousai. Wait until he is well enough to hold a sword, and you won’t be able to touch him.”

“I never spoke of allowing him a sword,” Bayushi snapped.

“Then what, exactly, are you intending?”

And for that, he had no answer.

Behind him, he heard the creak of leather as Yamato rose to his feet and moved quietly to stand at his shoulder.

“Bayushi-san,” he said. “You were with the Kyoto Shoshidai, a fervent supporter of the Shogunate. That man not only murdered your son, but played a large part in making this entire contemptuous government possible. Remember your reasons! His death was _not_ the only reason you accepted this deal. For both of our sakes, you have to kill him.”

_For both of our sakes..._

“He has changed since the Bakumatsu,” Bayushi began.

“Certainly, he’s grown more crafty,” Yamato interrupted coldly. “He was a butcher back then. Such a person cannot change. If anything, he’s learned how to appeal to your compassionate side. Do you think he doesn’t know what he’s doing?”

... _you have to kill him._

Illness could not be faked. But soft gestures, compassionate words carefully chosen... he wavered on the edge of uncertainty. _Was_ Kenshin merely manipulating him, in order to preserve his life? He didn’t think so... and yet, he could not rule the possibility out.

Yamato pressed on. “Delaying his death will solve nothing, and only put you in danger. Not only does he have allies searching for him, but Battousai himself will cause difficulty. Don’t think for a moment that if you give him enough time to recuperate, he will sit meekly and thank you for it.”

“I am not so naive,” Bayushi replied in a low voice.

“Very good,” Yamato murmured. “For I’d hate to see you taken advantage of. The shame of going to your grave, having failed to avenge your son due to your own weakness, would be great... I’d imagine.”

Bayushi took a shuddering breath, fists clenching at his sides.

“The hitokiri has done a fine job at twisting your perceptions on the matter,” the officer continued evenly. “I understand the attempt at preserving your honour, truly I do, Bayushi-san. Perhaps you find yourself incapable of killing him at this time – however, _I_ do not.

“If your heart is still set on your double vengeance, I will kill him and satisfy the hatred of your son on your behalf.”

Bayushi snapped his head up to stare at him. Yamato gave him a thoughtful smile. “Unless, of course, you have changed your mind?”

He opened his mouth – and shut it again.

Ultimately, to say _yes_ would mean nothing. Yamato wanted Kenshin dead, and would hardly refrain from attacking him if Bayushi pulled back at this juncture. To turn back, to give up his right for the kill, would yield the same result – unless Bayushi wanted to go so far as to protect his son’s killer from an ally. And no matter the level of his confusion, that was something he was not prepared to do.

To say _yes_ would be to go against everything he had worked for over the last years. Himura Kenshin had been a ruthless murderer, regardless of how he now chose to live his life. He acknowledged that; knew that despite any doubts, he still believed the hitokiri should die for the crime of murdering his son.

And yet... he couldn’t bring himself to say _no_.

He closed his eyes, mouth twisting in self-disgust. Yamato was right; how had he allowed the hitokiri to have so much sway on his opinions that he was hesitating over a death he had looked forward to for years?

Yamato apparently took his silence as answer enough. His words were quiet, laced with satisfaction.

“Then it’s agreed.”

A moment later, the door closed quietly, the officer’s steady footsteps fading away down the corridor.

Paralysed by his own indecision and doubt, Bayushi could make no move to stop him.

\---------

The estate was almost as large as Kanryuu’s in Tokyo, surrounded by a high wall on all sides. The front gates were wrought iron, offering a brief glimpse to the main house found deep within the grounds. Two men stood silently at attention, guarding against intrusion.

“There will be more inside, with line of sight to the gate,” Aoshi explained quietly as he drew them further away from the street, following the perimeter of the wall to darker areas. “It is better to take an indirect route.”

“Do you know how many guards he has?” Sano asked.

“Unsure. We haven’t had time to get the numbers.” He hesitated, and then added, “Bayushi himself will not have so many – enough to guard him from harm. However, if he has entered into a partnership with the remnants of Shishio’s men, we can expect more, if only to guard against an escape attempt.”

“That’s helpful,” Sano muttered.

Misao shot him a glare, and turned back to Aoshi, an eager smile on her face. “Can we go yet?”

He nodded, and switched his cool gaze to Kaoru, standing by Yahiko. Despite her earlier attempt to stare him down – or perhaps because of it – she met his eyes for a brief moment before she looked away. The sakabatou was once more clutched in its sheath to her chest.

He motioned to her bokken, held loosely in her right hand. “You’re going to have difficulty fighting if you hold on to both.”

She glanced back to him and shrugged lightly, face stubborn. “I’ll manage.”

He stared at her a moment longer, and then turned without comment to Misao, stooping to lace his fingers together for her foot. If everything went well, Kaoru would have no call to find out just how awkward fighting would be.

Misao shot him a cheerful grin and rested a small hand on his shoulder briefly, before he launched her silently up and onto the wall. He watched her drop from view, hearing the soft thump of her landing on the other side, before he turned back to the three that would remain behind.

“Listen,” he said. “If you hear the alarm being raised, follow us in, but only then. If we find him without incident, we’ll bring him out at this point. Do not move unless you have to.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and leapt upward, vaulting over the wall and dropping lightly next to Misao. They shared a brief look, and then vanished into the darkness of the nearby trees, making their way stealthily toward the house as swiftly as they could. Time was of the essence.


	22. Desperation

The knowledge that he’d been oblivious not only to the arrival of food, but Bayushi’s entrance to the room, kept Kenshin on his feet long after the man had left again. Tilting his head backward to rest gently against the wall, he pressed cool fingers to the heat in his temples and softly cursed his luck. Foolish of him not to think this might happen; illness aside, a loss of awareness was the one thing he could not afford, given the circumstances.

The sky was dark outside. He had no idea what time it was. He’d dozed off in the early afternoon, by vague recollection. The extended hours of sleep had conspired to make his body ache more than it had when he’d allowed himself to drift. The lantern, left behind, cast a dim glow across the room that was still bright enough to hurt his eyes.

_It could be worse._ Given the relative clearness of his mind, his fever seemed mild enough, although he knew it would likely worsen over the next day. Bayushi’s indecision at least granted him a small reprieve, provided he could trust that he wouldn’t change his mind again once he’d had longer to think on it. In the meantime, Kenshin would take the man’s advice.

The last meal he could recall having was the rice that had come with Senzo’s drugged water. That had been... four days ago? He wasn’t sure. With the concussion and the further damage Yamato had done to his collarbone, hunger had been a distant third on his list of discomforts. He didn’t feel particularly hungry now, although certainly lack of food would be a major contributor to his light-headedness.

Eventually, he drew himself upright, away from the support of the wall, and crossed the room unsteadily on bare feet to kneel by the bowl on the floor. Rice, again; a cold, congealed mass that had obviously been there for hours. He smiled ruefully. The smell alone was enough to cause his stomach to clench in protest. He ate anyway, using his fingers in absence of any eating utensils, giving each bite time to settle before he tried another. Not the most dignified way to eat, but he was hardly in a position to complain.

He managed to force down most of the bowl’s contents in this fashion, before he heard the sound of steady footsteps approaching the door.

He knew who it was before he heard the voice, in quiet conference with the guards. Even with senses dulled by fever, he could feel his ki, riddled with hostility. Kenshin rose to his feet warily, bowl in hand, and fought the dizziness that came with standing as his mind raced. Bayushi had changed his mind, or Yamato was here without the older man’s knowledge; either way, there was no mistaking his intent.

The guards were more doubting. Their words were too soft for him to catch, but the irritated response was distinct enough. “Then go and ask him yourself.” And then, a few moments later: “You’ll let me in _now_. I’ll wait to act until your return.”

Kenshin took a step backward as the door was unlocked, and met Yamato’s gaze as he pushed the door open, stepping into the room with a deliberate tread. One of the guards stood framed in the doorway behind him, glancing first at the officer, and then over his shoulder to Kenshin with a dubious look on his face. The other guard was nowhere to be seen.

“Battousai.” Yamato smiled thinly. “You look unwell.”

Kenshin narrowed his eyes at the mocking tone. “Does Bayushi know why you’re here?” He dropped his gaze from the officer’s face to his left hand, hanging loose by his side and curled around the grip of a pistol, and fought back the urge to swear as his heart sank. Bayushi’s sword he might have stood a slight chance of defending himself against – but a bullet?

“He does, as a matter of fact,” Yamato replied in pleasant tones, following his gaze. He tightened his grip on the gun and gave a half-shrug. “I suppose you could consider this cowardly. I would call it common sense. No man with a shred of intelligence would allow you to get anywhere near a sword.” His voice sharpened, aimed at the man behind him. “You can go. I want to speak to him alone.”

The guard glanced at them both once more, and closed the door quietly, leaving them alone. Kenshin wondered for a moment why he looked so nervous, and then realised the other guard must have gone to confirm Bayushi’s decision. Yamato’s visit was unexpected, then. He supposed that explained why the officer had yet to threaten him with the gun, let alone fire; a reassurance to the guards that he would wait. That, at least, was an advantage. His fingers tightened on the bowl in his hand.

“I’m quite impressed,” Yamato continued, more softly. “You’ve run rings around Bayushi. I would think, given enough time, you might have been able to persuade him to let you live. A minor chance, but nevertheless.”

“One you can’t afford.” He was thinking fast, now. One guard was gone, but it changed little; even if he managed to get past Yamato, he’d have no strength left to deal with anyone else. His options were limited. “Why is that?”

“I’m surprised Bayushi hasn’t told you.” Yamato raised an eyebrow. “It’s very simple. You are surely aware of the impact you’ve had every time you’ve become involved in a conflict. You were one of the deciding factors in the Bakumatsu... and Okubo was honest enough to know that in order to stop Shishio Makoto, he would need you on side. Do you realise how much power you carry, merely by those two facts?”

At Kenshin’s silence, he continued. “I suspect you do, on some level, or you would not be so accepting of the government’s reliance on you. You ran into difficulty when you fought Shishio-sama, but you fought him on your terms and won. I... am not half the man he was.” He smiled. “In order for _my_ goals to survive your interference, I’m afraid I have to cheat.”

_Practicality._ Yamato had plans; had bargained with Bayushi to receive assistance in carrying out those plans, in exchange for handing Kenshin over to be killed – an execution that he desired himself.

Yamato won on both counts, provided Bayushi actually intended to kill him.

“Bayushi’s indecision was something you weren’t expecting,” Kenshin said, evenly.

“Correct.” The smile dropped from Yamato’s face. “Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s changed his mind again in this short time. I won’t allow him the opportunity.”

And with no further warning than that, he swung the gun up.

\---------

They travelled as quickly as they could without forsaking stealth, skirting the side of the main house, taking note of the presence of guards as they went. There were men patrolling the grounds, in pairs, enough that getting into a confrontation would be unwise. Thus far they were oblivious to the presence of two ninja weaving their way through the trees.

Misao had to admit: if it wasn’t for the urgency of their search for Kenshin, she might even have been enjoying herself. The two of them together, under the night sky... never mind that after that first brief glance they’d shared, Aoshi hadn’t looked back at her once; not to see if she was following, or had run into difficulty. Which, again, could be taken for lack of care – but she knew him down to the soles of his boots.

If Aoshi wasn’t constantly checking on her, it meant he trusted her to be efficient. And he certainly hadn’t objected to her accompanying him. His calm acceptance of her demand an hour earlier had left her grinning almost all the way here; a welcome distraction from worried thoughts about a certain rurouni.

_A certain rurouni who’s never gonna live this down,_ she thought idly. Provided, of course, that they could find him – and that all of Aoshi’s dire predictions were false. She frowned at the thought, and focused her gaze on the man ahead... and noticed he had stopped, one gloved hand resting on the bark of a tree, staring sharply ahead. Misao crept up to his side, peering around him in an attempt to discover what had attracted his attention.

There were two smaller, L-shaped buildings to the rear, modestly built from plain timber, separated from the main house by an expanse of lawn. She supposed someone as wealthy as Bayushi would have separate accommodation for his staff – but this, in itself, wouldn’t have given Aoshi pause at all. She scanned the grass separating the buildings, and spotted him – one lone guard, fast-paced, crossing the grounds toward the house. He moved with an almost nervous air, the tense set to his shoulders noticeable even from the trees.

“Something’s going on,” she whispered.

“Mm.” His voice was barely audible. She glanced up at him, and saw the mask of concentration as his eyes tracked the man almost predatorily. Aoshi blinked once, and then began to step away from the cover of the trees, face blank.

Misao followed quietly behind. She understood perfectly. If something was happening here tonight, it would almost certainly involve Kenshin. Which meant the man before them stood an excellent chance of knowing where he was – and he was alone, which made him a far easier target. More efficient than searching every room they came across, and faster to boot.

They never had the chance to ask him.

Before they’d crossed even half the distance, the crack of a gunshot rang out across the clearing. Ahead of her, Aoshi drew to a halt at the sound; Misao ducked instinctively, looking around wildly for whoever had fired. But the shot wasn’t repeated, and neither of them was hurt.

Aoshi swore very softly, and she glanced up at him. His gaze was on the guard, and for a moment she thought they’d been discovered – and then she realised the guard himself had turned, staring back at one of the buildings with a look of surprise. Nobody had fired on them at all. But then what...?

Her eyes widened. “Himura!”

And _that_ was a mistake—

\---------

“ _Kenshin!_ ”

Yahiko snatched at the sleeve of Kaoru’s gi as the echo of the shot faded away, shaking her slightly as the colour drained from her face. “Don’t be stupid! You don’t know that had anything to do with him!”

“Aoshi and Misao,” Sano said, staring up at the top of the wall. “Think they’ve been made?”

As if in response, a cry went up within, heard faintly from their position. An alert had been sounded.

“That’s your answer,” Yahiko said – and blinked, startled, as Sano reached down to haul him up by his gi. “Sanosuke!?”

“Hang on.” Sano swung his arms up fast. Yahiko barely managed to hold in his yelp as he went flying. By reflex, his hands shot out to latch onto the edge of the wall, feet scraping at the stone as he regained his equilibrium and pulled himself up.

He turned to glare downward. “Sano!”

“Quit complaining,” the tall man shot back tersely, taking the weapons from Kaoru’s arms and holding them up. “It’s faster this way. Unless you really want to sit this whole thing out?”

_Point._ Yahiko snatched the sakabatou and bokken from his hands and thrust a hand down to help Kaoru onto the wall as Sano lifted her up to him. “Not a chance.”

\---------

His aim was perfect.

The bowl cracked, and then broke into pieces at the force of its impact with Yamato’s face. He reeled back with a faint cry, the pistol wrenched inadvertently upward even as his finger tightened on the trigger in reflex. Kenshin was already moving, twisting his body to the side in a desperate attempt to avoid the path of the bullet as he fired.

The shot in the enclosed room was deafening. He felt the faint sting of its near miss along the outer curve of his right shoulder, and had no time to savour the relief that flashed through him. Before Yamato could reorient himself and bring the gun again to bear, Kenshin slammed his left shoulder into the man’s chest and sent them both crashing to the ground amidst a tumbling cascade of shattered china and rice.

The impact sent a jolt through him, flaring the pain of his broken collarbone to almost unbearable heights, and he fought for control as vertigo washed over him. He could feel the man beneath him struggling to draw breath; the fall had apparently knocked the air from his lungs. _Good._ He felt no remorse for the uncharitable thought, and instead twisted slightly, snaked out his good arm and went for the gun.

His hand closed on the barrel as the door flew open to admit the remaining guard. Whatever the man yelled into the room was lost to Kenshin as the man beneath him suddenly shifted, snarled in fury and smashed a hand into his right shoulder, fingers stabbing into flesh in a crushing grip. The world went white. He heard a strangled scream and knew it for his own, as Yamato rolled, slamming him into the ground.

“You little bastard,” Yamato hissed, and yanked the gun away from his slack fingers. Kenshin curled on his side as the man let him go, hand wrapped protectively around his shoulder as he clenched his teeth with the effort of keeping silent. Yamato stood up, heaving in air, reeling slightly on his feet.

“Yamato-san, stop.” The guard’s tone was urgent. “You can’t. Not until Bayushi—“

“Self defense,” Yamato interrupted, voice hitching. “He attacked me. I shot at him.”

“And you’ve stopped him,” was the determined reply. “Please, Yamato-san, I must ask you to wait. You assured us you would.”

Kenshin shifted on the ground and rolled limply onto his back, fighting to bring his breath under control. His eyes sought out Yamato, standing by his feet. The man’s face was bleeding freely from two places. Absurdly, there was rice stuck to his cheek. The gun in his hand had swung up again, to point not at Kenshin, but the startled looking guard. His voice was quiet velvet, a contradiction to the obvious fury in his expression. “Feel free to run and complain.”

_Mistake._

The guard, after one disbelieving look, spat an obscenity and backed through the doorway carefully, before turning and running down the hall. Yamato offered a curt smile as the footsteps faded away, and turned his gaze back to Kenshin.

“You’ll lose your alliance if you’re not careful.” His voice was thin, stripped by the shattering pain of his shoulder.

Yamato responded by aiming a vicious kick at his legs. “I lose nothing,” he snarled, face flush with anger. “I have permission to be here. What one guard says—“

Kenshin snapped a foot out straight and drove his heel into Yamato’s knee as hard as he could. The brief flash of surprise on the man’s face would have been comical if not for the circumstances. He gave a pained cry of his own as his knee gave, and pitched to the ground as Kenshin rolled to avoid his fall.

He forced himself up and flung his arm out to snatch at Yamato’s wrist, wrenching it aside as he raised the gun to fire, sending his shot wide. The sudden movement sent the world spinning again, and his fingers slid up to wrap around the gun itself as he concentrated blindly on stopping the officer from firing on him again.

Both on their knees, they fought for control of the weapon. With only one good arm, what strength he had draining away fast, Kenshin knew it was a battle he would eventually lose if he didn’t find a way to even the odds. A fist smashed into his cheek, snapping his head backward. His vision blurred out, but he retained his grip through the rain of blows that followed, rolling his weight to push down across Yamato’s arm, toppling them both to the ground.

Balanced across his left side, with the arm trapped beneath him, he had a chance. Kenshin gritted his teeth and slammed Yamato’s hand into the ground as hard as he could, crushing it between the hard metal of the gun and the floor. Twice. A third time, as Yamato gasped curses and knotted his free hand in Kenshin’s hair, yanking backward painfully in an attempt to stop him.

On the fourth impact the gun twisted free as Yamato’s damaged fingers finally loosened, leaving Kenshin with the weapon grasped awkwardly in his hand. A small victory; he wondered if he’d just managed to delay the inevitable. His strength was all but gone. He clenched his fingers on the gun as Yamato uttered an odd sound, caught somewhere between fury and laughter, and shoved him forward, slamming his head roughly into the floor.

_Pain_. He fought to keep from passing out, lying face down on the ground, left arm half twisted beneath him. His right arm, untended in the fight, a mass of hurt curled loosely on the ground beside him. He didn’t let go of the gun. He was vaguely surprised when Yamato made no move to retrieve it, but instead settled for extricating his arm from beneath his exhausted body and rising to his knees. His other hand was still locked firmly in his tangled hair, holding him down. When the officer spoke, he sounded wearily amused.

“There’s more than one way to kill you, Battousai,” he said. “The gun would have been a faster death. I suppose it’s useless to a man with a vow such as yours. Keep it.” He chuckled unevenly. “But I do commend your effort – for someone so injured, you fight like a wildcat. It seems I managed to underestimate you after all.”

Kenshin kept silent, and concentrated on trying to blink the spots from his eyes. There were shards of china pricking uncomfortably into his stomach. His vision doubled, and then drew back into clarity, focusing on a dark shape to his right. The water pitcher, left with the rice. Knocked on its side at some point during the scuffle, spilling most of its contents to soak into the timber floor. Close. His fingers closed on the rim.

_This is going to hurt._

The sound of the belt knife being unsheathed seemed very far away.

“Foolish of me,” the officer continued softly. The hand tightened in his hair, and he was hauled back hard enough to lift his chest from the ground. A faint sound escaped him at the added stress, hissing between clenched teeth as Yamato pulled his head back, exposing his throat. His intentions were plain.

_This—_

He forced a knee beneath his weight and twisted as he flung his left arm out, backhanded. The butt of the pistol, still clenched in his hand, swung in an arc destined to connect with Yamato’s jaw. Would have done so, if Yamato hadn’t expected him to try it. The hold on his hair loosened as the officer shot a hand up to protect himself, fingers catching his wrist in a crushing grip and pulling it past him in an attempt to yank him off balance. Kenshin let him succeed, giving in to the tug, twisting around with the momentum to swing his _right_ arm up—

_\--is going to HURT—_

With a yell equal parts anger and stubborn determination, he smashed the water pitcher into the side of Yamato’s head with all the strength he could muster.

_Please, be enough—_

His last sight, before the agony drove him past reasoned thought, was Yamato’s surprised expression as the officer slowly toppled backward.

\---------

It took a great deal of effort to open his eyes again.

He was lying across Yamato’s legs. He raised his head, blinking. The world took entirely too long to come into focus.

Kenshin got to his knees, breathing unsteadily, and raised a hand to his shoulder, cringing at the needling pain running through the arm. He wondered if he’d done more damage; he didn’t have time for a proper inspection. The guards, perhaps with Bayushi, would be back shortly. Yamato could awaken at any time.

Yamato had been confident enough – foolish enough – to send both guards away. He was grateful for that. For all the man’s talk of refusing to underestimate him, the officer had done so from the start, allowing his malice to cloud his judgement. The door was open. He could walk free.

From the room, at least.

He picked up the gun, not willing to leave it within Yamato’s reach, and stood with difficulty. He leaned against the wall for as long as he dared to steady himself; nearly slid down it again as vertigo threatened to drag him back to his knees. He almost laughed. He was certainly in no condition to deal with anyone else – and yet staying here, with Yamato, would be a clear death sentence. Any indecision Bayushi might feel over killing him would vanish once he realised Kenshin, despite serious handicap, had managed to incapacitate an armed police officer.

He waited until the dizziness subsided to manageable levels before he edged his way out through the door, pausing long enough to draw it closed and shoot the bolt home, locking Yamato inside.

Then, one foot in front of the other, he moved down the empty corridor in the opposite direction from the guard’s exit.


	23. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author has no clue how security would operate on Meiji era estates but shh go with it

The crack of a pistol.

The guard’s cry, giving away intruders.

At the second gunshot, Bayushi finally raised his head, glancing toward the window in his study. _Twice?_ He listened sharply, but heard no more. Yamato was a poor shot the first time, or he was merely making sure the hitokiri couldn’t rise again. Either way, his vengeance seemed to be complete, even if Yamato had forced him to make his decision ahead of time.

His son’s murder had been avenged.

He should feel more satisfaction than this.

Bayushi thought on that a moment, and wondered. Why did his victory seem so hollow? Was it because Yamato had taken the death from him? _Perhaps_. He didn’t think so, however; given circumstances, he’d grown used to, and accepted, the idea that when the time came, it might not be his hand that dealt the killing blow. _Then why...?_

The guard’s cry. Bayushi blinked. So deeply immersed in his own dark thoughts, he’d failed to pay attention to the obvious. His estate was under attack. The hitokiri’s allies, no doubt; a little late, but nevertheless. He wondered what mistake had been made to give Kenshin’s location away. His gaze shifted to the door expectantly.

A moment later, there was an almost frantic knocking, and the door opened, the servant’s haste overcoming protocol. “Bayushi-sama—“

He forestalled the report. “I know. How many?”

The servant blinked, then continued. “A man and a girl at the rear of the house, but there are reports of a second group of three coming through the front gardens.”

_Only five?_ He supposed the girl would be Kenshin’s woman. “Have the guards on the boundary check for others.” It was foolish to mount an assault with such small numbers. He considered for another moment, and then added, “Tell them to spare the woman if they have the option. And I want Battousai’s corpse brought to me when the battle permits. That is all.”

The servant bowed and left hurriedly, leaving Bayushi to his own thoughts, hand curled loosely on the hilt of his sword.

The rot in his lungs precluded him from taking an active part in the melee below, but with only a group of five thus far, his guards should be more than enough. As for the body... he held no grudge against the woman. Bayushi would allow her to leave, and take the hitokiri’s body with her for a proper burial. Given the coward’s death that he had just meted out, such an act seemed only just.

\---------

By the time the second gunshot rang out, Misao and Aoshi were caught in the middle of a large-scale brawl. The guard’s call had brought reinforcements in plenty; from the buildings the shots had originated from, and several of the men that they’d just painstakingly crept past to get to this point. Stealth that was wasted, now, thanks to her humiliating incompetence.

It wasn’t as if she’d _screamed_ Kenshin’s name – at least she could pride herself on refraining from that particular stupidity – but in the dead silence following the crack of the gunshot, caught standing in the open, her gasp of shock had been just loud enough to draw one solitary guard’s attention. And now what held Misao’s thoughts, more than the cover she’d inadvertently broken, was the realisation that when they were done extricating themselves from her blunder, she would have to turn and look Aoshi in the face.

The second crack of the gun only served to remind that if she’d kept her mouth shut, they might have been able to find the gunman before he’d managed to fire again. If the Oniwabanshu weren’t under attack, that left only one person she could think of who’d be the target. Any sense of the romantic – the ideal of a heroic rescue – was stripped away as she considered the very real possibility that the man they were here to find had just been killed.

_Don’t go there, Misao._ She steered her mind stubbornly away from such disturbing thoughts, and concentrated instead on what she was doing.

“ _Kecho giri!”_

Namely, smashing one ever-so-delicate foot into the side of her current assailant’s jaw. She landed deftly before the man finished crashing to the ground, a look of dazed bewilderment replacing the smug expression he’d previously been wearing. Was every person there going to underestimate her just because she was a girl, and short to boot? That made _three_ idiots who’d merely tried to grapple with her rather than draw a weapon. She flicked her braid over a shoulder and dared a brief glance behind her.

There was a clang of steel as Aoshi, back loosely to hers, trapped a man’s sword between his own two blades, lifted a strong leg and almost lazily kicked the man in the ribcage, sending him flying with an explosion of breath. Misao turned back to her own battle, and wondered why he was being so gentle. Comparatively, at least. The former Okashira seemed more intent on incapacitating his opponents rather than killing them outright.

Between the two of them, they’d managed to put down eight men thus far from the group around them. Not without injury; Bayushi’s men – or Shishio’s _former_ men, she wasn’t sure – were hardly unskilled. On the other hand, from what she could see, Aoshi’s few trailing cuts were minor, and she herself had suffered only bruising from overzealous fools who apparently didn’t think she was worth the edge of their sword.

_Until now, at least..._ Misao grinned fiercely as the long rasp of a blade unsheathing caught her attention. It seemed someone was finally taking her seriously; a man barely a foot taller than she was, face twisted in outrage as he spat an insult and swung for her chest. She dropped to the ground, fast enough that his sword sheared through the very end of her braid, and with both hands pushed into the grass she swept his feet out from under him.

He fell hard, and she spun to her feet to press the advantage, when she caught movement from her left. Misao twisted away from the surprise attack, and was mostly successful; the blade’s arc scored a shallow gash across her upper arm. A far better result than her ambusher’s original intention, but that knowledge didn’t make the wound sting any less. She stifled her surprised cry of pain, and noted with worry that her first attacker had used the distraction to roll, climbing to his feet. She glanced from one to the other, and cursed inwardly. She couldn’t take both. It was hardly fair – from nobody taking her seriously, to _two_ swordsmen, on either side, intent on killing her? She shouldn’t have complained—

“Misao.” Aoshi’s sharp voice. “ _Right.”_

A split second hesitation as his words registered. Confidence returning, she turned her back entirely on the man to her left and instead concentrated on her first opponent. She heard the battle cry of the guard behind her, and then the distinct sound of Aoshi’s effortless parry as he interposed himself between them, defending her back.

Her opponent sneered at her before raising his sword again. She avoided his first two strikes, the second one barely, jerking her head away from the tip of his blade, earning herself a mild scratch across the temple as the edge swung up through her bangs. His third attack was a thrust, aimed for her chest. Misao blinked as she saw an opening. Swordsman or no, she could disarm him. She dodged left, letting the blade skim past her, and shot her right hand out to snatch at the wrist of his swordarm. As her fingers closed, she gave him an apologetic look and yanked him further along his path, pulling him off balance... and swung up her free hand to smash it into the outer curve of his elbow.

With his arm pulled straight, the joint snapped inward under the tension. Misao let his wrist go as the man shrieked and stumbled, curling protectively around his arm. She struck him in the back of the neck. This time, he stayed down.

Aoshi’s opponent had already fallen, apparently from suffering the impact of twin kodachi hilts to the face. He was collecting his sheath from the ground, his back to her. _He really is being gentle._ Misao wondered for a moment why he’d stopped fighting – and then realised that there was nobody left to fight. Apart from the men that were unconscious on the ground, they were alone.

She could still hear a commotion in the distance. Closer to the front gates. Kaoru and the others were over the wall, and obviously already fighting. She wavered on the edge of indecision – to turn back and help them, or to press on and find Kenshin?

_They’ll have to wait,_ she thought uneasily. _Himura’s situation is more urgent._ There had been no more gunshots; on the other hand, that in itself was an ominous sign. At least they knew he was in one of the smaller buildings – now it was just a matter of finding him. The buildings were large enough in their own right.

She raised a hand to inspect the bleeding gash on her arm. Not deep enough to inflict lasting damage, but still painful. She winced and glanced up, to find Aoshi staring at her.

The flush of humiliation returned to her cheeks. “Aoshi-sama...”

He reached out a hand to take her wrist and pulled her forward firmly. She started at the unexpected contact, and then realised he was merely taking a better look at the cut. _Oh._ She tried again, striving for an almost formal tone. “I apologise. I blew our cover.”

He didn’t answer, his eyes shifting to someone behind her as he dropped her wrist.

Misao turned, to see a small man, new to the scene, falter under Aoshi’s piercing stare. He wasn’t wearing a weapon. _Servant?_ No fighter, at least; after the briefest hesitation, the man turned and fled for the main house.

He didn’t get very far. They were on him before he managed to make the door. With a yelp, he fell under Misao’s tackle; she rolled with him, snaking her arms up under his own to drag him upright. A light man, and clearly terrified, trembling slightly in her grip. Someone who hadn’t expected to find them the only two standing, perhaps. She turned him helpfully to face Aoshi, who regarded the servant with a cool gaze.

“Your employer has a prisoner,” he said. “Where is he?”

\---------

He had no idea where he was. Kyoto, certainly. A private estate? Kenshin followed the corridor as it turned sharply around a corner, and padded as quietly as he could past several rooms. The building seemed empty enough – which was odd in itself given Yamato’s gunshots – but he was unwilling to take the chance of disturbing any potential occupants. Right now, he felt as if he could run into a six-year-old with a sling and he’d still have difficulty.

He didn’t realise he was bleeding until he made it to the door at the end of the hallway. He placed a hand on the wood and blinked at the fresh blood on his arm, streaking away from Yoshida’s kunai cut. Apparently he’d stressed the injury enough in the fight to re-open it. Not a serious loss of blood, but the last thing Kenshin needed was to leave a trail marking his passage. He leaned against the wall as he wiped his arm across his mud-stained hakama, smearing crimson against the hip.

_I must look a mess._

He didn’t allow himself the luxury of the wall’s support any longer than necessary. Kenshin suspected there was a large chance his body would refuse to move again if he did. Instead, he rested his cheek against the door momentarily, listening for movement on the other side. When he heard nothing, he pushed it open gingerly and was met with an expanse of grass and trees. The night was cool for summer, the breeze a fresh and welcome presence across his face and shoulders.

There was nobody in sight, although in the open he could hear faint shouts in the distance. Perhaps an alert had been raised, after all. He let the door close behind him quietly and stepped onto the grass.

He had no idea where he was going, but it seemed wise to get as far away from Yamato as possible. With any luck, he would find a wall, or a road, and come up with a better plan from there. A wall could be followed to an exit; a road could mean a landmark he recognised. Both options posed a high risk of his discovery. He had little choice, although the thought of just finding a place to hide and collapse was dangerously appealing.

Kenshin had no illusions about the outcome of doing such a thing. Bayushi would turn this area upside down to find him; his chances to escape detection were very slim. Even if he wasn’t found, he knew his fever, still mild, would only worsen from here. Stopping for rest would only end his chances to survive altogether; he couldn’t defend himself from attack if he lost complete grip on his senses.

With that thought firmly in mind, he slipped quietly into the darkness of the trees

\---------

Though Kaoru would never admit it to him, Aoshi had been right. Fighting was not only difficult, it was almost _impossible_ while carrying the much heavier sakabatou. The sword was too heavy for her to use – and something in her rebelled at the idea of using Kenshin’s sword here in any case.

In the end, she’d tried threading it through the waistband of her hakama, the way he wore it. Still unused to it, the sheath banged awkwardly against her hip, but at least she had both hands free to use the bokken. She forced down her worry for Kenshin’s safety, and concentrated instead on following Sano’s lead, defending herself against those few she met, countering where possible to put them down.

Yahiko fought beside her, protecting her left side fiercely in a display of gallantry she might find irritating in other circumstances. As it was, the awkwardness of the extra sword on her hip made her grateful for his added assistance. Ahead of them, white hanten torn by several near misses and fluttering in the breeze, was Sano, forcing them a path through scattered opposition to the interior of the grounds. They trailed in his wake, two steps behind, finishing the job he started.

Kaoru had to admit he was doing reasonably well against his opponents for being bare-handed. She supposed being charged by a tall lunatic wasn’t something these people were really expecting – and as personal guards, though hardly amateurs, their level of skill was likely nowhere near Yoshida’s trained mercenaries. .

On the other hand, she noted with concern the blood beginning to seep through at his shoulder blade, and after a while realised what that meant: the stitches Megumi had so painstakingly sewn were giving way. Wouldn’t be too bad if he was careful, but this was Sano, of all people—

“Kaoru!” Yahiko yelled. “Watch your _self_!”

She turned her attention sharply away from the bloodstain and barely caught sight of the sword thrusting directly for her chest, its wielder grinning toothily at her. Yahiko snagged her gi at the waist and jerked her to the left as she flung her arm up and out of the blade’s reach. Instead of connecting with flesh, the sword plunged through the trailing sleeve of her gi, ripping through the cloth under the shoulder to scrape at the bandages she habitually wore around her chest.

She stumbled back a step at the force of the attack as the man pressed his advantage, other hand snaking up for her throat. _I don’t think so._ She glared at him as she raised her left hand to grasp the hilt of the bokken and brought it down in a double-handed strike. The bokken cracked across his head with enough force that he began to sag at the knees.

Before he could recover, Sano’s bandaged hand hauled the man back by his collar and threw him into a tree. Abandoned, the sword dangled awkwardly, tangled in the fabric of Kaoru’s gi. She reached across and drew it out before its weight dragged the blade through the rest of her sleeve, trying not to destroy the cloth further.

“Kaoru?” Yahiko’s voice was strained. She glanced at his white face and realised that from her left, he wouldn’t have seen the extent of the damage. He’d obviously assumed the worst.

“I’m all right. He missed.” She dropped the sword to the ground in the sudden silence. Apparently Sano had run out of guards to punch. She glanced up at him, a look of irritation on her face. “I could have handled him.”

Sano grinned tightly. “You could’ve ‘handled’ him a lot earlier if you weren’t so busy staring at my back, Jou-chan. Look after yourself, huh? I’m not gonna find Kenshin just to tell him I got you killed on the way here.”

The irritation slid from her face. He had a point: she’d been reckless. “You’re bleeding,” she said, by way of explanation.

“I know.”

And with that, he turned on his heel with maddening nonchalance and continued briskly on through the trees. She glared at his back, sighed and began to follow, turning her gaze to Yahiko, who matched her pace. Most likely, he’d just saved her life. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, well...” he muttered. “Makes us even, doesn’t it?”

The colour was still returning to his face. She studied him a moment, then smacked him lightly over the head, ignoring his faint sputter of outrage as she moved to catch up with Sano. “When a girl thanks you, you should just accept it like a man. Now come on. We have people to find.”

Like Misao, and Aoshi. And Kenshin. She thought of the two gunshots, and quickened her step. Yahiko was right in that the shots might have nothing to do with him – but somehow, she didn’t believe her rurouni would be that lucky.

\---------

Misao sprinted down the corridor, face pale, giving up all pretense at stealth. Aoshi was a quiet shadow beside her. For once, she wasn’t concerned with what he thought of her actions. Her focus was on one person, and one alone. The servant, clearly unequipped to deal with any threat to his person, had babbled everything he knew.

Everything.

“Himura,” she muttered.

He’d given them straight directions to the room Kenshin was in. They’d asked if the room was guarded.

_I don’t know. There were two. They might still be there._

She skidded to a halt, hand catching on the door frame as she glanced down. No guards in sight. The door was bolted from the outside. They wouldn’t bother to lock in a dead man, would they?

_Might?_ Aoshi’s calm enquiry. The servant had blanched white.

Her fingers closed on the bolt, and drew it back.

_Forgive me, sir! Bayushi-sama had him killed! He’s—_

With one violent motion, she slammed the door back. “ _Himura_!”

_\--dead._

Misao slid down the door frame to her knees, as much from relief as from astonishment at the sight within. The floor was a mess; shattered china and congealed chunks of white – was that _rice?_ – littered it. A man in a crumpled police uniform sprawled on his back out cold, a short knife a few inches away from curled fingers. Yamato, by the merchant’s description.

She gave a shaky laugh. Kenshin was most distinctly _not_ dead.

Nor was he where he was meant to be. If the gunshots were aimed at Kenshin, then they’d missed him by a matter of minutes. She pulled herself upright and backed out of the room, closing the door before she glanced to Aoshi. He was staring further down the corridor, a calculating look on his face.

_Stupid servant, anyway._ “He’s alive,” she said aloud, not bothering to keep the happiness from her voice.

“He’s injured,” Aoshi replied. At her startled look, he strode down the corridor. She caught up to him as he crouched on the ground, tapping at the stain his sharp eyes had noticed. Blood. Not a great amount, barely more than a drop or two, but that wasn’t the cause for his concern, she knew. Rather, it was the fact that the blood had been smeared slightly across the floor. There were further, faint imprints of crimson leading away; the curve of a foot, blurred slightly. Several steps away, the traces of blood faded altogether.

From the shape, Kenshin was barefoot; was moving slowly and unsurely enough that he’d caught blood on his own foot, tracking it briefly down the hallway. And hadn’t noticed. That bespoke a lack of awareness that was unnerving, considering the man they were looking for had the most finely tuned senses she’d ever seen, next to Aoshi.

Misao scowled, and followed on Aoshi’s heels as the tall man stood again abruptly and continued swiftly through the hall. There were no more obvious signs of Kenshin’s passage, which indicated the rurouni had caught on. At least, she hoped that was the case.

Aoshi pushed the door at the end of the hallway open, glancing out to the trees. “He’ll be trying to find an exit,” he said. “I doubt he’s aware we’re here. We need to find him before he gets to the boundary.”

”Yeah,” she whispered.

If Bayushi had effective security on his grounds, not everyone would have rushed to the cry of alert. Any guard stationed by the perimeter would have held his post, mindful of the possibility that any alert could be merely a distraction. Aoshi had chosen their entry point to Bayushi’s estate with care – but Kenshin was travelling blind. And while the rurouni was intelligent enough to realise all of these things, he clearly wasn’t functioning at his best.

One misstep, and he’d be back in the hands of men who – to put it mildly – didn’t have his best interests at heart. Not if they knew Bayushi had ordered him to be killed. They had to find him, and fast.


	24. Reprieve

The moon was only half-visible in the clear sky, seen through the flicker of the leaves in the breeze. He remembered it had been full on the night he had gone to duel Senzo, hidden by the storm clouds. It had rained, then. Kenshin found himself wishing it would rain now.

It would help to hide him; to darken his hair so it wouldn’t stand out in the moonlight that occasionally touched him, and drown out the quiet rustle of his light-headed passage through the trees. Heavy rain would make it far harder for anyone to find him – an advantage he could sorely use, given the situation. He knew he was starting to lose focus. Discipline and sheer stubbornness could keep him moving, searching for a way out... but it couldn’t overcome the exhaustion blanketing his senses. He was not as quiet or careful as he would like to be, and only a fool would assume there were no guards between him and potential freedom.

If Bayushi had truly sent Yamato to kill him, then it was only a matter of time before the older man went to find out why the officer had not returned.

For that matter, Yamato himself could raise the alarm once he reawakened. In a bout of rare vindictiveness, Kenshin hoped the officer’s head would ache at least as much as his own had after the rifle strike. The man had taken entirely too much pleasure in hurting him on the way to Kyoto – and it was obvious who was behind Bayushi’s sudden change of heart. The longer Yamato remained out of commission, the better.

Everything came down to time. The fact that his escape hadn’t been given away yet was a blessing – he suspected the moment the guards realised he was free and began to sweep the grounds, his careful steps through the cover of the trees would turn by necessity into a blind run. Likely, he wouldn’t be able to get far even then; the idea of sprinting through the darkness with an unsupported, broken collarbone wasn’t one he wanted to dwell on.

Kenshin kept close to the trunks of the trees themselves, hoping the shade of the leaves above would keep his hair from catching the light. He’d disposed of Yamato’s pistol once past the tree line; dropped it carefully into a low bush, despite any advantage it might offer him. Any minor chance of using it as a club, or even to bluff his way to safety, was countered by the sheer awkwardness of trying to hold it and support his shoulder at the same time.

The wound on his arm was no longer bleeding, at least. He’d taken care to wipe the excess blood on the cloth of his hakama. His shoulder... worried him. It was clear – painfully so – that his attack with the water pitcher had aggravated the injury further. Just how badly, he was unsure, although he supposed the fact that he could still _feel_ the pain was a good sign.

When he heard Yahiko’s voice, he nearly lost his balance. For a moment, Kenshin wondered if perhaps fever was making him imagine things. The yell was faint, but not so far away that he couldn’t make out the words. He stood frozen, staring off through the trees as he heard him shout Kaoru’s name.

The voice that followed was a soft mutter, and alarmingly close. “They have a _kid_ with them?”

Paralysis broken at the sound, Kenshin rocked back on his heels to press his shoulders against the shadowed bark of the tree he’d just passed, out of sight. The man who’d spoken was a bare fifteen feet away, standing underneath the leaves and staring off in the direction of the outcry.

If not for the sheer coincidence of that surprised observation, he would have walked straight into the guard’s line of sight. More distressing, however, was the fact that Kenshin hadn’t registered his presence at all before the man had given his own position away with his words. Speaking aloud. Which meant either the guard was muttering to himself, or—

“Who knows? Maybe Battousai had a son.”

He wasn’t alone. Another one nearby, hidden from his view by the trees.

Kenshin suppressed a sudden, mad desire to swear aloud at the precariousness of his hiding place, and tilted his head back against the bark, staring up at the sky as he tried to get his thoughts in order.

He wasn’t delusional, unless he was also imagining the guards. His friends were on the grounds. Fighting on his behalf. Bayushi’s men hadn’t discovered his escape because they were too busy dealing with unexpected company. He understood, now, why the building had been so empty.

The brief smile that rose to his lips at this revelation faded as he recalled Bayushi’s earlier threat against Kaoru. He was almost positive that the older man’s sense of honour wouldn’t allow him to hurt a woman, despite his words – but that assurance didn’t stretch to include the men who worked for him. Nor did he think that Bayushi would hesitate to use lethal force with someone else. Yahiko... Sano would certainly be with them – and if they were here, there was an exceedingly high chance Aoshi or Misao would be as well.

Kenshin had enough faith in their strength to believe they could hold their own on the grounds. On the other hand, Yamato’s presence here told him that ultimately, their opposition wouldn’t be restricted to the guards on patrol. He remembered the quiet efficiency of Yamato’s men at the docks. The remnant of Shishio’s group, clever enough to escape arrest. Again, Sano or Aoshi should be more than a match...

He thought of the clear gaze and expert aim of the riflemen.

_All the assurances in the world..._ Even aside from those concerns, a rescue attempt couldn’t succeed if he couldn’t be found. And he was honest enough to admit that assistance at this point was not only welcome, but necessary. His near miss with the guards was enough to convince him of that – in his injured state, his sense of awareness so ragged he’d almost walked blindly into the enemy, his chances of walking free on his own were likely nonexistent.

That they’d come to rescue him in the first place warmed him considerably.

He straightened quietly, took a step away from the tree... and heard the unsheathing of the sword as he did so. The cool tip of the blade touched almost gently against his ribs. Kenshin stiffened, and cursed himself for misjudging the man even as he wondered what had given him away.

“Thought I smelled blood.” The guard had moved up more quietly than Kenshin would have given him credit for. That, or his senses were fading more than he’d realised. The guard’s tone was professionally calm. “You should have stayed with your friends if you were injured. Turn around.”

_Should have_ \--? Kenshin blinked. Facing away from the guard, largely hidden by the darker shadow of the tree, the man had no clue who he’d actually discovered. It was a mistake the guard would correct very shortly, but for now, he wondered if that was an advantage.

“I said, turn around” the man snapped. “I won’t ask again.”

_Alright._

Kenshin swung around to stare at him blandly, giving the guard a full view of his face.

The reaction was as immediate as it was comical. The man jerked back in shock, staring at him with wide eyes as the tip of his sword dropped briefly away. Kenshin couldn’t really blame him; the guard certainly wouldn’t have been expecting to deal with the sudden appearance of the hitokiri Battousai on his watch. He heard the quick footsteps of the second man approaching, drawn by the look on his partner’s face.

Kenshin didn’t wait for him to complicate matters further. Before the guard could get over his shock and raise his sword again – before he had time to take in that the rurouni had no weapon and likely couldn’t use one even if he did – Kenshin slammed a foot into the man’s stomach, knocking him backward.

Then he ran.

He had little choice.

\---------

The cry that went up was immediate. Sano stopped in his tracks as he heard the almost frantic yell of discovery that echoed across the grounds. The guard’s shout was partly interrupted by a shrill whistle from someone else, but there was no mistaking what was said. All he needed was the word ‘Battousai’, and it was obvious what was going on.

_Damn, Kenshin. Way to make things more complicated._ Nevertheless, the news that the rurouni had engineered his own escape brought a small grin to his face. Beside him, he heard Kaoru make a small sound, and he turned to find her scanning the trees frantically. Sano hoped like hell Aoshi and Misao were paying attention, wherever the ninja had vanished to.

Yahiko gave a snort of derision. “Knew they didn’t shoot him.”

_Sure you did._ Yahiko’s face had gone almost as white as Kaoru’s at the time – but Sano didn’t think it was really the right time to bring that up. The call would bring every guard in earshot that was still on his feet, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe they’d dealt with everyone. Already, there were answering shouts from the trees, enough to make an estimate on where Kenshin was. The redhead had to be close to the wall.

Kaoru was already moving, headed in the direction of the outcry. He snagged Yahiko’s wrist and sprinted after her, and swore again under his breath as he recalled certain complications. Kenshin was a damn fine swordsman, but Aki had broken his collarbone, and his sword was currently out of reach – not to mention Aoshi’s gloomy predictions on his likely state of health.

If the rurouni had a shred of sense he’d be trying to run... but if nothing else succeeded, sheer numbers would drag him down in the end.

\---------

His tactic with the guards had bought him a few seconds, but that wasn’t enough to lose them, and both were hot on his heels. He heard answering shouts to the piercing shriek of the whistle, and knew he had limited time – others along the wall were eagerly diverting from their post for a chance to bring him down.

Whether that was a breach of discipline or a standing order to prevent his escape at all cost, was an issue Kenshin spared no thought for. He was pushing boundaries now, driving himself past limits he was seriously going to regret if he survived the night. His bare feet all but slid across the grass, the greater part of his thoughts consumed by the effort and the raw, burning hurt of running with a broken collarbone. He ran on blind instinct, concentrating solely on evading the grip of those pursuing him.

He used the terrain to his advantage, avoiding the snatch of hands by weaving sharply through the trees, keeping as many obstacles between himself and the enemy as possible. Erratic movement helped to compensate for his lack of speed – but he couldn’t keep it up indefinitely. He saw a figure lurch out of the trees to his right, lunging for him with a low growl of determination, and swerved in avoidance, stumbling on his feet as dizziness surfaced past the adrenalin. Kenshin staggered, dug fingers into bark to claw himself fully upright, and kept going, gritting his teeth as he immediately staggered again. He wasn’t going to win this race.

He also had no idea where he was going. This, too, was a problem.

Sanosuke solved it for him, with a bellowed shout, words clear, somewhere far ahead of him to the left. “Kenshin! _Here!_ ”

_Here, Sano?_ He gave a wan smile. Even now, in desperate straits, he hesitated over that offered lifeline, if only because to accept it would be to draw his friends deliberately into a fight with the guards running him down. A brief and ingrained flash of concern, fought by the knowledge that a confrontation was inevitable in any case. He veered left, ducking under a low branch, and risked a glance behind him to see the numbers. _Only three?_ He was sure there’d be more than that—

He skidded to a halt and twisted out of the way of the man who stepped out in front of him, and barely stopped himself from tumbling into the dirt as he avoided the hands that reached for a handhold in his hair. And then someone was tackling him from the other side, shoulder slamming into his chest, strong arms wrapping around him as he was driven to the ground.

Taken by surprise, it was all Kenshin could do to roll his weight to avoid landing on his shoulder. The impact sent agony jolting through him despite his best effort, breath driven from his body as his attacker landed heavily on top of him.

He was stunned, and struggling to fight off the strong desire to pass out, and barely noticed as the man stumbled upright to bark an order. The world spun dizzily past as others reached down to take hold of him. It threatened to vanish entirely when they dragged him up roughly by the arms. He didn’t have the breath to scream; fought to hang on to any sense of the situation as his captors changed grip to hold him like a ragdoll between them. He heard bitter laughter, and the sound of a sword being drawn.

Then they pushed him up against a tree, and laid the edge of the blade to his throat.

There were five of them, and more would arrive soon. He fought to regain control over his senses as one guard yelled the news of his capture, and cursed in tired frustration as he realised he had nothing left. Too tired, too injured by far to be able to break their grip, let alone defend himself. He sorted through the babble of voices, and realised they were arguing, an edge to their words that gave him the revelation that even now, despite having clear advantage, they were afraid of him.

“...can’t! We take him back to Bayushi-san!”

“Bayushi wants him dead.” A snarled reply, right in front of him. The wielder of the blade at his neck. “I say we save time and just cut his throat now.”

“That’s not your decision to make!”

“You’d rather we try and drag him back and fend off his allies at the same time?”

“It won’t come to that. They’ll surrender if his life’s at stake—“

His anger flared at the words. Kenshin forced his eyes open and glared in furious affront at the man who’d spoken. “Don’t you _dare,_ ” he hissed.

The guard recoiled from his gaze, face pale. He opened his mouth to retort – and was interrupted by the clear, angry tones of a girl’s voice that Kenshin knew quite well.

“ _Kansatsu tobikunai!_ ”

Misao’s declaration of war, snarled from his right, snapped their attention away from him – and then the pressure of the sword was gone from Kenshin’s neck, as its wielder swung the blade up frantically in an attempt to defend himself from the brace of knives hurtling in his direction, thrown by a girl hidden in the trees. Two of his companions, caught in the path of her kunai, dived for cover. Kenshin ducked his head to the side in reflex, but her aim was true, targeted solely at those in front of him.

A moment later, the hold on his right arm dropped away as Aoshi appeared out of the darkness and struck the guard in the throat.

Bereft of support, Kenshin fell, half dragging the guard on his left with him. Aoshi flicked a kodachi out and over his red hair as the first man crashed to the ground, and rested the tip of the blade calmly under the other guard’s chin, voice cold. “Let him go.”

The guard snatched his hands away hurriedly, and was rewarded with a flip of the kodachi, hilt striking him hard in the face. And just like that, Kenshin was free, breathing hard on his knees, trying to blink the spots away from his vision.

There was silence for a moment, and then he heard Aoshi address him from the darkness above, his words almost inflectionless. “Stay down.” He moved to the attack before Kenshin could protest, drawing away from him to deal with the three remaining guards, recovering from the distraction of Misao’s kunai.

_Stay down?_ There were going to be far more than three men to contend with in a few moments. He planted his good hand on the ground with the intent to push himself upright, and had to stop as the world turned sickly at the movement.

“Himura!” Misao materialised at his side, dropping to the grass. He glanced up to meet her worried look and summoned a weary smile, and winced inwardly as her gaze raked across him with growing shock, finally fastening on his shoulder. Her mouth set in a hard line of anger that didn’t suit her at all.

His voice was faint. “Misao-dono—“

“Don’t even _think_ about telling me you feel fine, Himura,” she snapped, cutting him short. “Aoshi-sama will deal with the guards. If you try to get up before I’m done, I’ll yank you back down and pin you to the ground by your hair. Now, hold still.”

Taken aback at the absurd threat, Kenshin blinked and allowed her to push him gently back to rest against the bark, closing his eyes as her careful fingers fluttered coolly at his shoulder.

Tired as he was, he suspected he could do little else.


	25. Convergence

He was so still after his eyes closed that for a moment she thought he’d fainted, which worried her. Misao couldn’t bear Kenshin’s weight on her own, and Aoshi would need his hands free, particularly if they had to fight their way off the grounds. She glanced sharply up to his face, drawn and pale, and decided he was still conscious. His breathing was shallow, but controlled; an attempt to keep his upper body as still as possible. 

Her hands moved over him carefully, taking measure of his injuries, noting with concern the heat under her fingertips. She was relieved to find nothing life-threatening; he’d avoided getting shot. There was old blood matted in his hair, and fresh blood on his arm and smeared across his hakama. A deep wound showing signs of infection, but nothing likely to kill him any time soon. She apologized quietly to him as she worked her fingers gently through the tangled hair to find the shallow injury beneath, and received a wan smile in return, although he didn’t open his eyes. A few old cuts and some fresh bruises… nothing serious there.

The break to his collar bone was by far the worst thing he suffered, clearly visible by the awkward angle of his shoulder and the dark, welted bruising which warned of other complications. Just how he’d managed to run across the grounds with his shoulder like _that_ was beyond her. Misao didn’t know whether to be impressed with his determination, or horrified. 

One thing she did know for certain: whoever had decided to let the break go untreated was going to have a small, up close and personal meeting with as many kunai as she had to spare. 

_That’s if Kaoru-san doesn’t get to him first._

Misao scowled. The most she could do now was brace his shoulder temporarily, enough to ease the discomfort of moving and let him keep his other arm free. She reached over to hook fingers into the gi of a downed guard – and yelped as a figure crashed out of the bushes directly to her left, sword already out and swinging for her head. Reflexes carried her backward and she pitched to the ground out of its path, biting back on a shriek as the length of metal sheared through the air a bare inch in front of her nose. 

“Aoshi- _samaaaa!_ ” She rolled as the man shifted grip on his sword to lift it high above his head, and kicked his legs out from under him. “ _Reinforcements!_ ” 

Even as the guard fell, she could see he hadn’t been alone. Four more had arrived; two from her side, two swiftly approaching Aoshi’s battle to assist their losing allies, blades out. They weren’t the only ones; she could hear more through the tree line, on their way here. With a pang of dread, she realized – if Kenshin’s escape attempt and subsequent recapture _hadn’t_ managed to draw them, her own scream of distraction certainly had. Every guard on the grounds would know by now that Battousai was here, in the hands of his friends… in the middle of an estate full of men who wanted him back.

_Well, this is going to be fun._ She struck the fallen guard as hard as she could in the face, and rounded on Kenshin with a glare, unsurprised to find that the rurouni was again attempting to rise to his feet, eyes open and fixed on the new arrivals. Misao flung out a hand to catch him by his good shoulder and pushed him back down, steadying him as he swayed. She bit her lip as his violet gaze lifted to meet hers; steady, but hazed with pain and an exhaustion so deep she began to suspect he would have to be carried from the grounds after all.

She turned to face the two men, approaching her warily. They were taking their time; trying to work out if the man behind her was still a threat, no doubt. She cursed under her breath as she considered the odds, risking a glance toward Aoshi. He was unlikely to be able to interfere with the battle this time, outnumbered as he was in his own fight. 

Misao uttered something blasphemous under her breath as her hands delved into her gi for the second brace of kunai – and froze, blinking in astonishment, as the familiar and livid face of Kamiya Kaoru appeared behind her two opponents.

A moment later – as one guard began to turn, to see what Misao was staring at – the bokken swept viciously into the side of his neck.

\---------

She wasn’t alone. Sano had caught up to her easily on her mad sprint towards the guards’ outcry, all but carrying an out-of-breath Yahiko under one arm. The announcement that Kenshin had been brought down, and the shouting that followed, had filled her with a feeling close to panic. The edge to those raised voices was enough to convince her that the men were just one step shy of being a lynch mob, and that didn’t bode well for Kenshin’s health at all.

And that fired her temper. 

The fact that Misao – and by logical association, Aoshi – had clearly already joined the fray ahead, did nothing to take the edge from her anger. By the time she arrived on the scene, Kaoru was furious enough that her first strike with the bokken was brutal enough to lay the guard flat at her feet. The crack of impact was enough to draw the other man’s attention away from his first target, and he turned on her with a snarl of anger. “Bitch!”

Sano kicked him in the face with enough force to send him flying, colliding with one of Aoshi’s opponents and causing them both to sprawl to the ground. 

Kaoru scowled at him, and he grinned. “What? He was rude.” He glanced back to Misao – past Misao – and took a sharp breath, before shoving her forward to the other girl as his smile suddenly vanished. “Go. I’ll help Aoshi deal with the extras.” And before she could protest, he was gone. 

_Why did--?_ She stopped on that thought. The answer was obvious. Bokken lowered to the ground, she glanced up to Misao’s stunned expression. The other girl still held her kunai balanced in one hand; she didn’t hold Kaoru’s attention for long. Her gaze swung past to the tangle of red hair, half-concealing the pale, angular features of a man she hadn’t laid eyes on for more than a week.

_Kenshin._

She kept a grip on her bokken through discipline only, moving past Misao swiftly to fall to her knees at his side, lifting a hand to grasp him by the shoulder before she hesitated, thinking better of it, fingers hovering above the injury she was only now fully taking in. “Kenshin.” She spoke aloud this time, voice filled with worry, aware of soft footsteps behind her, running past Misao. Yahiko, by the sound of the short gasps as the boy fought to get his breath back after running so hard. She heard his sharp intake of shock, but paid no more attention to it as Kenshin lifted his head to stare up at her, mouth curved into a sweet and reassuring smile.

“Kaoru-dono.” His voice was faint, but warm. Even now, he was trying to ease her concern. “Please, don’t worry. I’ll be—“

“Don’t _worry_?” she interrupted, a hint of fury in her voice as she regarded him. “Look at you! You’re a mess! Your shoulder… you’re covered in blood and you tell me not to _worry?_ ” 

“Sorry,” he muttered quietly, closing his eyes again.

“Don’t apologise!” she snapped, aware that she was being unfair. “It’s not like it’s your fault, Kenshin! Just…” She broke off, fighting tears. Her self-control, held admirably thus far, was dangerously close to breaking under the sheer relief of seeing him again. 

“It’s not that bad, Kaoru-san,” Misao said from behind her. She glanced up in time to catch the other girl smile almost gently. Next to her, Yahiko’s face was white. “Mainly it’s the shoulder. We need to brace it before we try and move him.” She glanced behind her, assessing the battle. Sano and Aoshi were effectively defending them on one side, but that didn’t change the fact that the four of them could be attacked from the other at any moment. “We’re not going to have much time. If you can bind Himura’s shoulder, I’ll stand as your defense.”

“Bad idea.” They both glanced to Yahiko as he finally found his voice. He spoke in surprisingly level tones, given the shock clearly visible on his face. “I’ll do it. You’ll need someone to hold him steady with a… break like that.”

“Yahiko…” Kaoru blinked at him.

“Don’t say I can’t do it, busu,” he challenged. 

She took a breath, ignoring the insult, calm and control reasserting itself as she spoke, teacher to student. He’d fought his way here with no problems. He’d defeated Henya. The men here were far easier to deal with than the Juppongatana. “Stay on the defense and don’t chase them if they retreat.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“I know,” she said softly, turning back to Kenshin, offering him a smile of her own as he met her gaze with troubled eyes. Misao had moved, crouching down by the body of a guard and using her kunai to slice the gi from his back for makeshift bandaging. “Keep your back directly to us at all times; that way, you can’t get taken by surprise.”

_And that way, you won’t get distracted while we work._

“Got it.” There was a measure of relief in his tone as he turned away, shinai held two-handed in front of him. 

Kenshin’s gaze was still troubled. She wondered briefly if he was concerned about Yahiko, and then dismissed the idea; at times, Kenshin’s faith in the boy’s skill surpassed her own. “Kenshin.” She paused for a moment, glancing to Misao, who was tearing the gi down into wide, more manageable strips. “This is only temporary – you’ll have to get this done properly as soon as we’re out of here, or—“

_Or you risk permanent damage to your sword arm._ She left it unsaid. Considering he’d taken this wound at the very outset of his kidnapping, she was vaguely surprised that the collarbone hadn’t attempted to mend – badly – on its own. Had he rebroken it? Had someone else deliberately broken it again for him? Her anger surged back at the thought, mouth a tight line. 

“Alright.” Misao knelt on his other side, long, pale strips in hand. “Let’s try this. Sorry, Himura. This is going to hurt a little.”

\---------

And it hurt. Kaoru’s hands were cool and comforting against his shoulders as she held him away from the harsh texture of the bark, while Misao worked. Vaguely he was aware of having jerked back into her grasp entirely, letting her support him as Misao began to apply the strictures of bandaging, working too swiftly to be gentle, apologizing softly each time he flinched. Kaoru said nothing; merely held him steady, the faintest tremble to her fingertips the only indication that the situation distressed her. He wondered who had given her the bruise on her cheek; a mark too faded for her to have received it this night. He thought he might ask her, later.

The urge to pass out was growing stronger now, as adrenaline faded away. He fought it stubbornly, and turned to fasten his gaze on the back of Yahiko’s gi in an attempt to maintain focus, as the boy stood fast against attack. To faint now would be unforgivable, leaving his friends with the additional burden of carrying him out. As it was, he knew they would concentrate on defending him at their own expense, because they would assume him incapable of doing so himself. 

He clenched his teeth, as Misao finished tying off her makeshift bandaging across his shoulders and fashioned a rough sling. The break still seared pain across his nerves, but after his attack on Yamato and subsequent sprint, he doubted that would change soon. The dressing was tight at least, holding his shoulder back and in place and relieving some of the pressure, while the sling would give added support to the arm. 

With only a few scraps of material, Misao had done a surprisingly efficient job. “Thank you, Misao-dono.”

She grinned at him in response. His gaze slid to the thin gash on her arm, running from shoulder to elbow, and he winced inwardly. She’d been injured on his behalf. He wondered if she was the only one.

“Kenshin?”

There was worry in Kaoru’s voice, her arm slipped under his good one, holding him upright. Kenshin blinked, and realized in dismay that Misao had risen, regarding him gravely. He hadn’t seen her stand. He reined in his first impulse to curse at the lapse, and instead turned his head fractionally and gave Kaoru a smile. “I’m fine.” 

She bit her lip, and he shifted focus again, gaze settling on the sword at her waist. He was confused for a moment – Kaoru had _two_ weapons? – before his weary mind caught up and he realized he was staring at his own sakabatou. His breath caught in his throat, and he turned back to stare at her.

“Kaoru-dono? Where did—“

“Yahiko… found it in Tokyo,” she said evasively. “Kenshin – are you sure you’re all right?”

_Just found it_? There was clearly far more to it than that … but the notion that his sword had not been lost outside Tokyo or stolen by Senzo’s men, but rather carried here carefully by this woman, was unexpectedly touching. Rather than press her for an answer – and now wasn’t the best timing in any case – he smiled again, more genuinely. “I am, Kaoru-dono. I’m just tired.”

“ _Tired_ , he says,” was the snorted reply, and he looked up to Sano’s wry expression as the former gangster crouched next to him, resting his lanky arms across his knees. Behind him, Aoshi could be seen, kodachi still held at the ready as he gazed intently into the trees. 

Despite himself, Kenshin grinned tiredly at his friend’s cocky disbelief. “Sano.”

“Yo, Kenshin.” Sano paused, and considered him at length, eyes unreadable, before giving a rough smile in return. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

_So I’ve been told._ He glanced across to Aoshi, and read the intensity in his face. Something was going on. “The guards?”

Sano gave a shrug. “Last couple took off. Think they got the message? Or maybe we’ve finally run out of people to hit.”

“They’ve pulled back,” Aoshi corrected, turning on his heel to join them. “They know they’re just wasting men. That doesn’t mean they’ve given up.”

“Now’s a good time to leave, at any rate,” Sano muttered. He gave Kenshin another critical look. “Any ribs broken?”

“None. Why—“ He broke off in surprise as Sano took hold of him and stood, lifting Kenshin with care and setting him on his feet. He held the rurouni steady as he staggered, keeping him upright while he tried to get his bearings back. The sudden elevation had done horrible things to his sense of balance.

There was a pause, and then Sano spoke again with a trace of doubt. “You sure you can _stand_? I can carry you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sick,” Sano pointed out reasonably.

“I said I’m fine.” His tone was sharper than he intended, and he softened his next words, trying to take the defensive edge from his voice. “Thank you, but I can walk. You’ll need your hands free.”

“It’s all right, Sanosuke.” Kaoru’s soft voice behind him, followed by the hesitant, light touch of her fingers on Kenshin’s arm. “I’ll help him, if he needs it. Kenshin’s right. If we’re attacked on the run, you’ll be needed.”

Sano’s gaze didn’t waver from Kenshin, skepticism and concern clearly written on his face. Finally, he gave a slight shrug. “If you fall, I’m picking you up. You don’t get a say.” 

He couldn’t think of a single appropriate response to that. Merely stood there and blinked, as Sano gave a satisfied grunt and turned to Aoshi.

“Where to?”

“East wall,” Aoshi replied. “It’s closest.”

\---------

They moved quickly despite Kenshin’s injuries, taking advantage of the brief passivity of the guards. Aoshi guided them unerringly through the trees. Yahiko and Kaoru hovered at Kenshin’s side, while Misao trailed a few steps behind, peering into the darkness cautiously, clearly expecting further attack at any moment. Good sense, really.

Sano brought up the rear. From here he could keep watch on the stubborn rurouni… and keep from him the fact that Sano’s shoulder blade was smeared in blood. The last thing he wanted right now was for Kenshin to feel guiltier than he already did. Damn fool would probably try and take his sword back, intent on wobbling it at the enemy a few times before he fell over in a dead faint. 

The fact that he hadn’t asked Kaoru for the sakabatou showed he had at least some sense. Sano watched him closely, more angry about his condition than worried. If Shishio hadn’t managed to kill Kenshin, then he’d certainly survive these wounds. On the other hand, that shoulder had apparently been left untreated for almost a week and a half, and the rurouni’s skin was hot to the touch. Kenshin _had_ to be on the way out. He looked too exhausted to be staying on his feet with anything other than sheer force of will, and even that would only take him so far. As it was, he was beginning to stagger. Sano watched as Kaoru quietly took hold of his good arm and laid it gently across her shoulders, her other arm wrapped loosely around his waist. She whispered something to him Sano couldn’t hear – probably an apology – and Kenshin merely shook his head wearily. Either he was smart enough to realize he needed the help, or he didn’t have the strength to protest. 

He expected opposition to increase on their way to the edge of the estate – or at the very least, turn up to make a show of attacking them. He knew there were still men keeping tabs on them – could hear them occasionally in the trees – but they refused to make an appearance. Yet, they made it to the wall without incident. It both relieved and unnerved him. They could lift Kenshin over the wall and leave, just like that? That didn’t make _sense_ —

And then the first gunshot rang out, an echoing crack in the night that took a chunk out of the tree bare inches from Kaoru’s head. She yelped and tumbled to the ground, dragging Kenshin with her in a graceless heap as Yahiko dropped to the grass on his own. Misao spun on her heel, kunai held in hand searching for a target. Swearing, Sano’s tackle took her off her feet just as the second shot fired, narrowly missing them both. A third and a fourth shot sounded, cracking into the wall itself.

Then there was silence.

“Riflemen,” Kenshin muttered.

Sano blinked at him, and then turned as Aoshi spoke with eerie calm on his other side, crouched by the wall just beneath the damaged stone. "Deliberate miss."

"Real helpful," Sano snarled. "So what, they just let us go to pin us here? We can still go over the wall—“

He stopped. No, they couldn’t. Aoshi or Misao might be able to go over fast enough to avoid getting shot, if they took the snipers by surprise – but the rest of them wouldn’t. They’d be sitting ducks. And that was the point, of course. It wouldn’t have been hard for the guards to work out where they were headed. The men they’d fought before hadn’t withdrawn because they’d had enough, but rather to remove themselves from the firing line.

They’d walked straight into an ambush.


	26. Mind Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: chapter may contain traces of anime physics as opposed to real physics
> 
> ...which probably should have been a warning all along, but EH

For a moment, Sano wondered if they could get away with just trying to run. He could fling Kenshin over one shoulder – to _hell_ with his pride – and they could sprint alongside the stone of the wall, put a few trees between them and the riflemen. Surely they could get enough space, could buy enough time to get over the wall to safety before the guards could get a clear shot. 

A fine plan, which might work if he had any idea where they were actually firing from or even how many there were. For all he knew, there could be more riflemen further along the wall – and he had the sinking feeling that the moment any of them tried to run, the guards would shoot again, and this time they wouldn’t miss. Not a risk he was willing to take. 

Misao was still half pinned beneath him, her elbow driving uncomfortably into his stomach. He shifted enough for the girl to wriggle free, and shifted his gaze across to the others. Aoshi was the most composed of them all, despite the fact that the last two shots had clearly been aimed at him; he stayed crouched at the base of the wall in perfect stillness, sharp eyes scanning the trees. Yahiko was on his knees, clutching his shinai with both hands as if he could somehow parry a bullet. Kaoru had dropped her bokken to the ground nearby in favour of cushioning Kenshin’s fall, trying to ease the jolt to his collar bone.

The rurouni himself was half-faced away from him, tangled bangs concealing most of his face, slouched forward with his good arm still draped across Kaoru’s right shoulder. There was a certain tension to his frame that made Sano narrow his eyes with suspicion. He knew exactly what Kenshin was thinking. 

The silence after the gunshots lasted a full fifteen seconds. 

It stretched forever. 

“Misao,” Aoshi said, so softly he was barely audible. “ _Mark_.”

Sanosuke was caught up in trying to work out what _that_ was about, when they heard the first call from the trees. 

“Battousai!”

Kenshin lifted his head slightly at the name, giving Sano a better look at his face. The rurouni’s lips had curved upward in an expression of grim amusement. And why not? They all knew what the man was going to say next. Kaoru certainly knew, and knew what Kenshin’s response would inevitably be; her fingers reached to curl around his arm, her gaze settling on Sanosuke, a stubborn look on her face that managed to be pleading at the same time.

“Bayushi-sama wishes to inform you that he has no desire for unnecessary bloodshed.” The voice was clear, words carrying effortlessly through the summer night. “Surrender yourself, and you have his word that your allies may leave unchallenged. Decide quickly.”

Well, _that_ was a surprise. 

Even more predictable was the response. After a brief, still moment of hesitation, Kenshin drew back from Kaoru’s uncertain grip, clearly intent on standing. She caught him more firmly by the wrist, arresting his movement, voice low and urgent. “Kenshin, you can’t trust that. What’s to say he won’t shoot us anyway?”

“Because he didn’t have to give us a choice, Kaoru-dono,” he replied softly. 

There was truth in that, Sano realized with a start. The first volley of shots could easily have been aimed to kill them all – and there was nothing to stop them from shooting again, now. They weren’t behind any cover. Far simpler, far more direct for them to retrieve one injured rurouni from a pile of corpses, and yet they’d settled for giving them a warning. There was obviously a lot more going on here than they were aware of.

And yet in the end, it didn’t really matter. Hidden motivations aside, the fact remained that these people had seriously hurt Kenshin. Stood to reason that if they let him trade his own life for theirs, more of the same would occur. Sano narrowed his eyes to slits. 

“Kenshin,” he hissed. Kaoru was trying to plead. He’d go one better. “Just so we’re clear – you make one move to give yourself up and I’ll hit you so hard you won’t wake up for a week.”

Kenshin jerked his head up at that, violet eyes wide with surprise as he turned. Sano stared back at him with an angry grin, hands already curled into fists, watching as the redhead’s face darkened in realization. “Sano—“

“Shut up and _listen_.” Sano leaned forward, speaking in a furious whisper, bare inches away from the smaller man’s face. “You honestly think that will solve anything? Sure, if you believe they’ll let us go, fair enough. But do you think that after all the effort we put into finding you, we’re going to just _leave_ on your say so?”

“Sano—“

“I’m not _done_ yet.” He was being unfair. It was also the only way he could think of to get Kenshin to stay put; at least, without actually resorting to knocking him flat. “We put our lives on the line to help you out, Kenshin. Turning your back on that is just plain selfish. Why don’t you stop pretending everything’s your responsibility and maybe just _trust_ —“

“ _Sano._ ”

There was genuine anger laced through that flat utterance of his name. Kenshin stared him down with narrowed eyes. Maybe he’d gone too far. Kaoru was certainly looking at him as if he was mad … and yet, her hand was still firmly gripping Kenshin’s wrist. A hold he was apparently incapable of breaking, which spoke volumes on how exhausted he was. 

“Sano,” Kenshin said again, more gently. “I trust you.”

“Then don’t do it,” he shot back. “There are other ways to deal with this.” 

“Sagara is correct.”

An unexpected interruption, from the most unlikely of people. Aoshi straightened from his crouch by Misao and shifted his gaze to Kenshin, unblinking. “There are other ways,” he echoed, voice dropping to a faint murmur. “Will you buy time?”

The tension drained from Kenshin’s shoulders at the words, a flicker of relief in his expression. “Yes,” he replied simply.

Sano had the feeling he’d just missed something important. From the baffled look on Yahiko’s face and the uncertain plea still visible in Kaoru’s expression, he wasn’t the only one. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation and then shut it, aware of the presence of unwelcome eavesdroppers. 

“Kaoru-dono.” 

Kaoru turned her gaze away from Sano, and met Kenshin’s grave look as he turned his fingers to rest lightly on the curve of her hand. His words were almost apologetic. “I would ask that you let go of my arm.”

Her eyes widened. “Kenshin!”

“Let him go,” Aoshi interjected quietly. His eyes flicked to Sano, of all people. “Trust works both ways.”

And of all things, that sounded like a lecture. Sanosuke shot the man a withering glare and was ignored, as Aoshi lowered his gaze again to Misao, muttering something he couldn’t quite catch. Dammit, he was _right_ to stop Kenshin from handing himself over. He didn’t care what problem Bayushi had with the redhead; anyone who resorted to kidnapping and assault as a way of working out their issues deserved whatever they got. And yet—

_Will you buy time?_

Sano blinked. And understood, as much as he was able to. 

“Jou-chan,” he said gruffly. “Aoshi’s right. Let him up.” And because he saw that Kaoru _didn’t_ understand – was too fixated on keeping Kenshin still and safe for her to do any more than stare at him with surprised betrayal – he added in a rough tone, “He has to at least _talk_ to them. It won’t go further than that.”

As if on cue, the voice that had addressed them earlier rang out again with an edge of impatience. “Battousai!”

Kaoru turned back to Kenshin once more, blue eyes searching his face worriedly. For a moment, Sano thought she was going to be stubborn – couldn’t blame her if she was – but her grip loosened, sliding away from his slender wrist as he smiled at her.

“Thank you, Kaoru-dono.”

He rose to his feet, then; an ascent that was surprisingly graceful, given the overriding exhaustion he suffered. Sano, watching his face carefully, saw the brief flash of vertigo, relentlessly stifled as Himura Kenshin curled his free hand into a fist, mouth twisting slightly beneath the tangled bangs as he paused to recover his equilibrium. 

Then he turned, stepping away from them to give a response, voice mild. “If Bayushi-san wishes to give me his word, it is far more convincing to deliver it in person.”

\---------

Two steps away from Kaoru’s side, and he could see movement in the trees. The men that had followed them to the wall, he assumed. Not so many. Barely more than a handful making themselves known to him, not one of them armed with a gun. The riflemen were keeping out of sight. He considered that for a moment, and breathed a little easier at the possible implications. 

_Mark._

Kenshin was putting a lot of faith in that word. 

He moved with a deliberate tread, stopping halfway across the distance to face the guards calmly, waiting on a reply to his challenge. The sling made moving far easier, but he was ill to begin with and the damage had already been done. It was taking a great deal of effort to keep his surroundings in focus. If the men facing him chose this moment to try and take him by force, he wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.

On the other hand, if all went well, he wouldn’t have to. 

He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding when the guards parted to make way for a solitary, lean figure stepping out of the shadows. Bayushi was here after all, worn face pale and dispassionate under the moonlight, eyes flicking past him to Kaoru before settling on Kenshin once more. 

“You have my word,” he said at last. “These people can go. You will stay.”

Kenshin inclined his head briefly in acknowledgment. His words were quiet. In the absolute stillness that surrounded them, they carried perfectly. “And then?”

“You know what will happen,” Bayushi replied, steadily.

He gave a rueful smile at that. “Finally made up your mind?”

They stared at each other across the short distance. There was no indecision in Bayushi’s gaze now; nothing more than a quiet certainty to his stance that gave Kenshin the answer to his question. He felt the faint edge of disappointment. Much as he knew it hadn’t been likely, he would have far preferred to settle the older man’s grudge without resorting to harsher measures… but if Sano and the others refused to leave without him, he had little choice. 

He wondered how much time Aoshi would need. 

“I wasn’t sure about you, Battousai,” Bayushi said, breaking the silence. “I admit to having second thoughts. But it appears Yamato was right to take matters into his own hands.” He gave a short laugh. “You, with your broken collar bone and your fever, managing to incapacitate a man with a gun. I left you alive out of _sympathy,_ and you prove to me that your weakness was a sham. I was a fool.”

The accusation was both petulant and ridiculous. Kenshin felt the first stirrings of irritation. “I will defend my own life. Did you think I would sit there meekly and wait for an execution?”

“You told me you did not blame me for my actions,” Bayushi shot back. 

“I told you I couldn’t blame you for attempting my death,” Kenshin corrected sharply. “If you are going to hold my decision to stay alive against me, you are nothing but a child.”

\--------

_Way to go, Kenshin._ Sano narrowed his eyes as the old man – Bayushi – shut his mouth, face whitening in anger. _Real good idea - piss off the guy who controls the guns._ Bayushi already wanted Kenshin dead. All he had to do was give the order, and the rurouni would be shot full of holes for that acid remark. Just what Kenshin was trying to achieve was lost on Sano; ‘buying time’ surely didn’t mean ‘taunt the enemy into killing you’. Either Kenshin’s fever was eating away at his judgment, or the rurouni was indulging in some near-suicidal stalling tactics. 

_Or both._ Sanosuke directed a worried glance into the trees, searching for any hint of a sniper. _In which case, we’re probably doomed._

“I could have them shoot you, here and now,” Bayushi said coldly.

“I am sure they would be only too happy to do so.” Kenshin replied. “The riflemen are Yamato’s, are they not?”

“That hardly matters.”

“Are you so certain you can trust him?” he asked, voice mild. “Do you know he threatened to shoot one of the guards at my door, simply because of the man’s loyalty to you?”

Sano took a sharp breath. If the riflemen _weren’t_ loyal to Bayushi, Kenshin had possibly just invited a swift execution with that comment. He tensed, preparing to rise and try to tackle the rurouni out of harm’s way. A gloved hand caught at his arm. Aoshi gave a minute shake of his head and mouthed something that took a moment for Sano to understand.

_He knows what he’s doing._

Bayushi sounded amused. “Don’t bother, Battousai. I know what you’re trying to do. You won’t turn me against him.”

“I am not trying to turn you against anyone, Bayushi-san,” Kenshin said tiredly. “I am warning you.”

“I don’t need your warning,” Bayushi retorted. “When you die, my business with Yamato will be resolved. He will have what he wants. There is no _room_ for betrayal in our partnership. No matter what Yamato has in mind, there is nothing I can lose from this.”

“I wasn’t referring to betrayal.”

“You speak of trust. I find it hard to believe you would be referring to anything else. And this conversation has gone on long enough.”

Sano tried to jerk free from Aoshi’s grip, as Bayushi raised a hand to gesture the men behind him forward. The old man had run out of patience; if they didn’t do something now, they would lose Kenshin one way or another. He saw out of the corner of his eye Kaoru’s hand sweep down to wrap around the hilt of her bokken, her other hand gripping the shoulder of Yahiko’s gi tightly. 

Kenshin took a step backward warily as the guards began their approach. Yet when he spoke, his tone was more thoughtful than nervous, speaking in a clear voice designed to carry to all present. “You place high regard on your honour, Bayushi-san. Are you prepared to lose _that_?”

Bayushi flung an arm out, halting the guards in their tracks. He was utterly still, eyes fixed on the redhead, an odd look on his face. Sano blinked. _Score._

“…I fail to see how that is relevant,” he said after a moment. “You have no idea what Yamato wants.”

“It’s easy to guess, once I consider what you could possibly offer him,” Kenshin said, more quietly. “Financial backing. Influence. Or just a place to house his allies? He commands the tatters of an obsolete army. They follow him because he has offered _them_ something in exchange – and considering their previous loyalty, I can only assume it is following some shred of Shishio Makoto’s work.”

Bayushi stared at him, surprise clearly etched on his face. “You--”

Kenshin didn’t let him finish. “But Yamato knows he is no Shishio Makoto. He is not so ambitious as to try and take over Japan. Perhaps he merely plans a strike of vengeance for a dead lord? Is that close?” His words, soft to begin with, gradually sharpened with anger. “And he has come to you, a wealthy, former Shogunate supporter who has every reason to hate Battousai and the era Battousai helped to create. Because you will remove his biggest obstacle and deliver what he needs to succeed in his goals, regardless of any destruction he might leave in his wake… but you don't care about that, because in a few months, you will be dead and you won’t have to see it. Tell me, Bayushi-san: _what part of that is honourable_?”

He had their full attention now; even Sano could pick the tension beginning to shape the atmosphere. The air fairly crackled with it. Bayushi was staring at Kenshin as if the rurouni had reached out and slapped him. 

Perhaps he had, in a way. Sano didn’t care much about Bayushi’s reaction. He was more concerned with the men he couldn’t see. Kenshin was managing to buy time, but he seemed intent on doing so by earning the animosity of everybody present. If he kept this up…

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bayushi said flatly. “You are accusing me of dishonour based on _guesswork_.”

Kenshin tilted his head. “Am I wrong?”

…he was going to get shot. Sano didn’t doubt at all that the riflemen were paying close attention to this conversation; if they hadn’t already changed their aim to target Kenshin he’d be very surprised.

“It won’t be like that!” Bayushi snarled. “He has no intention of involving innocents!”

“He may have told you that,” Kenshin said steadily. “He may even have meant it. But I tell you this now: a man who is so set on getting his way that he will threaten his _own allies_ with death if he perceives that they are interfering… a man like that is not one you can trust to keep the innocent uninvolved, Bayushi-san. Yamato is ruled by malice, not discipline. He has no self control. He is little more than a selfish child playing at war.”

Bayushi’s face was white with fury. “That’s enough.”

“At best, his malice will drive him to make mistakes, and he will be arrested swiftly.” Kenshin pressed on. “The authorities will easily trace his backing to you. Your name will be dragged down along with his. At worst—“

“ _I said_ _that’s enough!_ ”

And finally, Sano understood what Kenshin was trying to do. Whether or not he could drive a wedge between Yamato and Bayushi was irrelevant at this point; but by trying to do so, by insulting the man that those in the trees were loyal to, he was making of himself a very tempting target to those who wanted Yamato to succeed.

And if the riflemen were aiming at _Kenshin—_

“Sagara.” He turned to meet Aoshi’s intent stare. “Be ready to move. He’ll need you.”

\---------

_Mark._

She was terrified. Not of the riflemen, or the others threatening their group. She was the okashira of the Oniwabanshu and self-nominated title or not, she had no business being frightened of such a situation in any case. 

No. Makimachi Misao was terrified by the amount of trust Aoshi was putting in her with that one word. The kunai were still clutched between her fingers, held close to her chest in an attempt to keep them safe from prying eyes. She hadn’t moved from her crouched position; had barely twitched since Aoshi had begun whispering to her. 

There was no room for mistakes. If she didn’t succeed, she’d be sealing everybody’s fate with her actions. And yet Aoshi had asked her to do this – hadn’t he noticed that it was her fault the guards were on high alert to begin with?

_Only four warning shots were fired. They’ve stayed hidden to hide their numbers, rather than threaten us directly. It can be done, Misao._

She only hoped he was right in his estimate on how many targets there were. She was inclined to believe it, if only because their fight across the grounds had probably accounted for most of Bayushi’s men to begin with. If there were more than a handful of gunmen, they would surely have been fired on long before the ambush at the wall. And she trusted in Aoshi’s finely honed senses as the previous okashira. 

If anyone could pick out hidden targets in the dark, it was Aoshi. 

_Twenty degrees to your right. Thirty feet. Nestled by the exposed root._

She barely paid attention to the conversation in the background. Kenshin was buying time; she didn’t need to know more than that. She tuned it out, and instead turned her attention solely to Aoshi’s almost sub-vocal guidance. 

_Fifteen degrees right. Thirty eight feet. Standing._

Misao traced the distance with her own meager awareness. They were hidden well; she doubted anyone else here save Kenshin could have noticed them, and he was probably too exhausted to do so. She could see the bare outline of a figure, once given a precise location. Even if she’d been unable to spot them, Aoshi knew they were there. That was good enough.

_Thirty five degrees left. Fifty feet. Standing._

Only two on the right, then. She sighed.

_Thirty seven degrees left. Forty two feet. Crouching._

Aoshi had been correct in his estimate. 

Four riflemen, loosely paired on either side of them. Misao shifted her attention to the left, nervousness giving way to concentration as she lifted the kunai, waiting for her chance. Hard targets; she would have to take out one side and then the other. If the riflemen had still been paying attention to their group, it was an attack she would never have been able to make. As it was …

\---------

…it seemed he was wildly successful in his bid to draw their attention. Kenshin could feel the murderous weight of their regard; knew that Yamato’s riflemen had almost certainly turned to focus their aim on him. He wondered how long their indecision would last. Let him continue speaking and they ran the risk that Kenshin would succeed at inspiring far more than doubt in the older man – but shoot him, and they would all but confirm his words. It was an uncertain choice they faced. Their hesitation to make it was keeping him alive. 

“You don’t want me to continue?” He was tired and in pain, and worn further still by the simple effort of standing under Bayushi’s venomous regard and arguing him down. Control was beginning to slip; his words were more scathing than he would have liked. In more ways than one, Himura Kenshin had had enough. “Are you so unsure of yourself that my words can upset you that easily? For a man who places such emphasis on honour, you’ve barely given thought to the consequences of your actions. Either you‘ve let your hatred for me seriously cloud your judgment, or your honour was never more than an empty concept to begin with.”

“You are nothing more than a butcher who murdered his way through the revolution at the whim of others,” Bayushi snarled, voice sharp in retaliation. “What would you know?” 

He took a breath, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to let the comment slide. A night ago, they’d discussed the paths of vengeance and honour in near civility, despite his imprisonment. And now? _Any further down this path, and we’ll start calling each other names_. The older man was furious, glaring at him with utter hatred; yet there was also doubt in his eyes, now. At least some of Kenshin’s words were making an impact. 

“Bayushi-san—”

Bayushi laughed. 

It was an odd, wounded sound that startled him into silence with its sheer unexpectedness. Kenshin shifted on his feet warily, watching the older man’s amusement as it inevitably gave way to coughing, hand curled over his mouth. He wasn’t the only one staring; the guards at Bayushi’s side looked at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. 

Kenshin’s attention shifted away from him. He’d heard something else, masked by the laughter – the faint, surprised cry of a man somewhere to his left, and the soft thump of his fall.

Her timing was excellent. 

He fought the urge to glance to the side, and instead kept his eyes on the man in front of him, as Bayushi smiled bitterly, dropping his hands to his sides. There was a faint trace of blood smeared across his knuckle. “I understand now,” he said mildly. “I am a fool. Yamato told me, and I should have listened. You do a fine job at twisting perceptions, he said. He’s right. You’re very good. But I’ve _tired_ of this now, Himura. I brought you here to do one thing, and I’ve let you delay me long enough.”

He raised his voice slightly, turning away from Kenshin in dismissal. 

”Shoot him.”

And then the world descended into chaos.

\---------

No choice. With two riflemen still at large within the trees, Bayushi’s order prompted Misao to desperate and reckless measures. She screamed as she threw the second brace of kunai with all the force she could muster, in the mad hope of diverting their attention away from their original target.

“ _Kansatsu tobikunai!”_

The kunai skimmed the distance as she regained her balance, and she knew that she had been successful; instead of a gunshot, she heard the startled yelp as her knives found their mark. She wasn’t aiming for a lethal strike, but she could certainly live with inflicting a bit of pain. 

Her attempt at distraction came at a price. She saw Kenshin twist to stare at her in alarm as she heard the man’s snarled insult from the trees. Given Misao’s advance warning, the man by the tree root had managed to take cover. She froze even as instinct screamed at her to move, that he was going to shoot. Aoshi snatched her off her feet before she could react, his own swift reflexes carrying her out of harm’s way as the rifleman fired, the bullet cracking into the wall where she’d just been. 

She had a brief glimpse of Kaoru and Yahiko sprinting in the opposite direction for cover; of Sanosuke, murderous look on his face, running for Kenshin before Bayushi could recover enough to realise the rurouni wasn’t going to be shot. And then she was all but dropped behind the shelter of a tree, as Aoshi’s eyes raked her, searching for injury. 

She gave him a bright, apologetic smile. “I missed one.”

“One, I can deal with,” he said. “Stay here.” 

He was gone before she could protest, vanishing into the trees. Misao gave him a count of five before she followed.

\---------

His concern for Misao almost cost Kenshin his life. The sound of a sword unsheathing directly behind him brought his attention back to the danger at hand, and he turned to see the blade swinging toward his neck. Somewhere in the trees, he heard Kaoru scream his name.

_Focus, you idiot._ Kenshin barely managed to jerk out of the blade’s reach, his evasion swift enough to send him stumbling in an attempt to stay upright. The guard merely smiled faintly and lunged at him again, clearly confident in gaining an easy victory. Kenshin twisted aside, and felt the tug of the blade as it narrowly missed his lower jaw and plunged instead through the thick mass of his hair, sending fiery strands drifting to the grass. He reeled as the sword sheared free, and tried to keep focus as his sense of balance nearly gave way entirely. 

A fist shot past his ear and slammed brutally into the guard’s face, sending him sprawling. The hand dropped to catch him by the shoulder, hauling him backwards and out of harm’s way. He staggered a step before he caught himself, and turned to see the torn edges of Sano’s white jacket as his friend planted himself in front of Kenshin, glaring at Bayushi’s guards. They were all approaching now, fanning out into a half-circle in front of them with swords out. Bayushi himself had retreated to the darkness of the tree line behind them, expression unreadable.

Five in total. Far too many for one bare-fisted fighter to deal with alone. “Sano—”

“Shut up, Kenshin,” Sano said calmly. “ _You_ can’t deal with them at _all_ , and that’s a fact.” 

Arguing was pointless; Kenshin stepped back to give him room. Sano cracked his knuckles, tossed him a rough grin and then turned to meet the attack of two of the guards. He sidestepped the first one’s thrust easily enough, snagging the man’s collar and throwing him head first into a tree before attempting to deal with the other. The second man, more wary, circled to his left, keeping Sano at sword’s length. A third moved to join him, clearly intent on trapping the former gangster between them.

The last two chose to avoid Sanosuke altogether. Kenshin smiled humourlessly as they skirted the edge of the brewing fight, their gaze focused on him. _Keep Sano occupied while you deal with me, is that it?_ Bayushi was obviously taking no chances. Between Sano and Aoshi, these guards would fall like the others; an attempt to kill him before Aoshi could arrive to balance the odds was hardly surprising. _At least I know Sano can take care of himself against two of them._ He shifted his stance to face them side on, protective of his right side, wishing that he’d taken the sakabatou back from Kaoru. 

Whether or not he was capable of wielding it well, the blade would have given him some measure of defense, rather than none at all. Reliance on footwork would only take him so far, particularly given his unsteady balance.

They attacked him together, one on either side of him with swords out, intent on cutting him down between them. Short on options, Kenshin let himself fall, dropping to the grass under the arc of their blades. He swept his foot out to trip the one on his right, and clenched his teeth as the jolt of the impact with the man’s shins flared the pain of his shoulder anew. 

_That delays one, at least._ His fingers curled on grass as he fought the pull of vertigo, and he twisted around to face the other guard. The man slid to a stop and turned with a snarl, taking a step toward him with sword raised … and was nearly knocked off his feet by a small blur of yellow and green. With a fierce yell, Yahiko swung the shinai into his ribs, hard enough to send him staggering, hand clutching his side in pain. 

A cold hand touched Kenshin’s shoulder, and he started as Kaoru slipped an arm around him, helping him to his feet. “Sorry,” she said softly. “We were late.”

He shook his head silently and accepted her support to stand. There were more important things to worry about. “Where—“

“Aoshi and Misao went to deal with the last rifleman,” she said, cutting him off. Her bokken was firmly held at the ready in her other hand. “They’re Oniwabanshu, they’ll be fine. And so will the rest of us. Stop worrying and just _rest_ , Kenshin.”

Having taken the guard by surprise, Yahiko seemed intent on battering him into submission; his next strike drove into the man’s gut, sending the man to the ground in a fit of coughing. His final attack settled the fight, shinai cracking down across his opponent’s head. A look of smug satisfaction flitted briefly across his face before he recovered his serious look and glanced to Kenshin.

Kenshin smiled at him tiredly. Yahiko’s victory might be partially due to his initial blindsiding of the guard – but a win was still a win. 

One left; the guard Kenshin had tripped, now on his feet and staring incredulously at the small boy who’d just beaten his companion into insensibility. He shifted his gaze, from Yahiko, to Kaoru with her bokken in hand, and lastly to Kenshin himself, sizing up the odds. Then the guard spat an angry curse and attacked, moving fast across the grass, clearly intent on making a last effort at killing him. 

And then something large hit the man, hard and fast, knocking him off his feet before he could react. 

It took another moment before Kenshin came to the realization that the large object in question was, in fact, an unconscious body.

“Yo, Kenshin.”

Sano was still grinning, wiping a trail of blood away from his cheek. He hadn’t come through his fight unscathed. “Are we done yet? Because I’d really like to go home right about now.”

_You and me both._

“Not quite,” he murmured aloud, shifting his gaze to the man standing in the shadows.

There was still one person left to deal with.

\---------

At the moment the riflemen failed to fire on Kenshin, Bayushi knew he had lost. 

_Only five,_ he’d thought. A gross underestimation of their capabilities. As soon as the girl had removed his sole advantage with her knives, he knew; the men he had with him would not be enough to win a battle on the ground. He tried anyway. He sent them after the redhead, hoping they would cut him down before the thug could arrive at his side – and he had failed there, too. 

He should have cut Kenshin down the moment he stepped forward.

He should never have listened.

Now, he watched them as the tall one waved off their concern for his health. Blood was spattered across his white jacket, but Bayushi had been watching long enough to know his wounds weren’t serious. His gaze settled on Kenshin’s wan features, studying every detail. The rurouni was clearly tired, resting much of his weight across the woman’s shoulder without protest. His expression reflected concern for a friend’s injuries, and guilt; emotions that Bayushi would rather not witness, given his attempt to cut the man down before his sharp words could unravel his resolve further. They reflected a humanity he’d long been trying to deny existed.

And yet, Bayushi did not turn away, even as Kenshin’s gaze shifted from his friend with a murmur, and fastened instead on him. 

He met that flat, violet stare with a calm one of his own, not moving from his place under the leaves. He supposed a wise man might have turned and left once he knew the outcome of the fight would be unfavourable. Bayushi chose to hold his ground, rather than run. He was the one who had drawn the lines of this battle. He would stay to the end. 

He had nowhere to go, in any case. 

Kenshin watched him for a long moment, in the sudden silence that had fallen. His men were all defeated; the one rifleman that had evaded the knives would certainly not have evaded Shinomori Aoshi’s deadly efficiency. There was no-one left.

“Bayushi-san.” 

The redhead’s voice was as flat as his gaze, spoken in a carefully neutral tone. Kenshin slid his arm from the woman’s grip to stand unaided, padding slowly across the grass toward him until he was close enough that Bayushi could see the fine sweat that beaded across his chest. His allies made no move to stop him; merely moved quietly a step behind him to stand at his back. 

Bayushi had no doubt that any move from him would cause them to intervene. He could have told them their protectiveness was unnecessary. He had no intention of attacking now, not when it was pointless. 

Instead, he spoke, his tone deceptively mild, before Kenshin could find the words to denounce him. “You may be right about Yamato-san, Battousai. Perhaps my desire to exact vengeance _has_ clouded my judgment. But even should I break my alliance with him – that changes nothing where you are concerned. You owe me a death.”

Kenshin said nothing. He stared at Bayushi, unblinking, as if his words hadn’t mattered. There was movement in the trees; Shinomori Aoshi, stepping from the shadows, the girl a step behind him with something in her arms. After a moment, Bayushi realised she was carrying rifles. 

He gave a bitter smile. His last, minor hope gone; there would be no last minute reprisals. He had well and truly lost. 

“Bayushi-san,” Kenshin repeated finally, voice hollow with exhaustion. “For the crime of taking your son from you, I apologise from the bottom of my heart.”

The words were unexpected. Bayushi almost gaped at him, hardly believing what he’d just said. Did he think an _apology_ was going to suffice? And as he stood there, searching for an adequate response, the rurouni turned on his heel. It was only as Kamiya Kaoru nodded at his quiet request and moved forward to help him once more that Bayushi understood: Kenshin was walking away from him.

He stared for a moment, unwilling to believe. And then his temper broke. “You think that’s _enough?_ ” he snarled. “Ten years mourning his death, and you think you can solve things with an _apology_?”

“I think it’s all you’re getting, old man.” Sanosuke gave him an angry smile. “Considering what you’ve done, I’d say you’re getting a pretty good deal.”

He was silent again, jaw working as he struggled to get his anger under control, watching as they moved to join Aoshi and the girl. The rifles had been dropped unceremoniously to the ground. He bit back the urge to yell at them – he would only end up coughing on the grass, wasting his chance to retaliate at all. But he couldn’t find the words that would bring them back.

Instead, almost plaintively, he said, “He killed my son.”

There was no response - and a few moments later, they were gone, leaving him alone with his anger in the solitary darkness of the trees.


	27. Tears

“I still think Kenshin should’ve let me punch the guy.”

Given that she’d heard this particular line at least twice before during her stint in the kitchen, Kaoru felt justified in being annoyed. “Mou, Sanosuke! Will you just let it _rest?_ ” She waved the knife in the air to emphasise her request. “It’s not like it was worth it! If Kenshin wanted to hurt Bayushi he was perfectly capable of doing it himself!” 

Sano grinned at her lazily, although she noted with some satisfaction that he took a casual step out of the reach of her arms. “Not the point, Jou-chan. I’m not talking about what Kenshin wanted. That old guy was a self-righteous, whiny bastard. I could have done with taking him down a peg or two.”

A sentiment she’d heard from him far too many times over the last two days. Kaoru shook her head, biting her lip in concentration as she did her very best to slice the watermelon evenly. Omasu had offered to cut it for her and prepare a tray, but she’d declined for the sheer sake of something to do with her time while she waited for Kenshin to awaken.

He’d roused from sleep once or twice yesterday to utter slurred and incoherent words to them, before drifting off once more. Early this morning his fever had broken, leaving him to sleep the day away more naturally. In mid afternoon, she’d forced herself to leave his room for a short while, if only to appease Sano’s demand that she get some fresh air – although she was beginning to think he just wanted somebody to ramble at. Kenshin’s life was hardly in danger; she knew he didn’t need her constant vigil over his health. But thoughts of what he might have gone through in the nine days of his imprisonment – particularly given his condition when they found him – kept her at his side. 

When he finally awoke, she wanted him to see a friendly face. Not because she thought he needed the reassurance – he was far stronger than that – but because she knew that if he woke alone, the idiot would struggle out of bed to find them and do his best to pretend he was fine. Kaoru fully intended to force him to stay on that futon for at least another two days, if she had to tie him down to do it.

“Oi, Jou-chan. You listening?” 

She looked up to Sano’s impatient glance as he leaned against the bench, hands in pockets. “What?”

Sano gave a noncommittal grunt as he watched her carve. “I said, Aoshi seemed to know a lot. I wonder how he knew Aki and Hiro were coming to town?”

Well, it was a different subject, at least. “Aoshi _is_ the former Okashira of the Oniwabanshu,” she pointed out with mild exasperation. “As someone with a spy network all through Kyoto, you’d think he’d know these things.”

“Could’ve just said so. Could’ve just said, _I’m a ninja master, you’d be surprised what we pick up_.”

“Very funny.” She paused to wipe sweat away from her forehead, and gave him a fleeting smile. He was trying to make her laugh. She appreciated it. “Although I’d question the wisdom of insulting the ninja master in his own home.”

Another grunt. He stayed where he was, peering at the chopping board in front of her as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. It occurred to her that Sano was just as restless as she was, poking fun and making idle conversation just to pass the time. They all were; if she paused the knife in its work, she would be able to hear Yahiko practicing down in the courtyard. He’d been at it most of the day. Part of the reason she had come to the kitchen for watermelon was to lure him out of the sun to take a break. Aoshi had gone out, Misao practically skipping beside him – Kaoru wasn’t sure, but she thought they might have gone to the police to find out if there was any more information.

The room Kenshin left Yamato Dayu in had been empty by the time the police arrived. The officer had apparently recovered enough to make his escape from the estate and evade arrest. Kaoru didn’t believe that he would make an attack on the rurouni while he was safely nestled amongst friends at the Aoiya, but his disappearance was cause for concern, particularly when she considered that neither Senzo nor Bayushi had seemed the type to deliberately inflict pain on a person. _A ruthless killer who hates Battousai with a passion_ , Aoshi had said. Kaoru scowled determinedly. If Yamato _was_ stupid enough to show up here, she was more than willing to send him on his way to the police so battered that he wouldn’t remember his own name.

She blinked as a hand reached across and deftly stilled the knife’s movement. Sano gave her a lopsided grin. “ _Slice_ it, not stab at it until it screams. I knew your cooking was lousy, Jou-chan, but I thought even you could manage this.”

She peered down at the now mutilated fruit, cheeks flushing faintly in embarrassment. “Oh, shut up.” She rescued what she could, propping the slices up crookedly on a tray. “Make yourself useful and tell Yahiko I’ve cut the watermelon.”

“You’re frightening him off so there’s more for us, right?”

She glared. “Sanosuke!”

“I’m just kidding, Jou-chan. You did a decent enough job.” He reached across her for one of the pieces she’d kept aside, and received a rap across his knuckles with knife handle for his trouble. He yelped in protest. “Hey!”

“Those are Kenshin’s pieces,” Kaoru said primly.

“Kenshin’s sleeping.”

“He’ll wake up soon.” _I hope_. “He shouldn’t miss out. Watermelon is a treat.”

“Watermelon isn’t the first thing I’d feed a guy who hasn’t eaten in days.”

“I’m making him rice and miso soup. He can have that first.”

“You trying to make him worse?”

“ _Sanosuke!_ ” 

\---------

She slid open the shoji and paused in the doorway for a long moment, watching him sleep. 

He hadn’t made it very far past the walls of the estate. Supporting his weight across her shoulders, Kaoru had felt him grow heavy as he relied on her more, feet stumbling beneath him as adrenaline began to wear away. He almost dragged her with him when he fell. As she struggled to keep him upright, Sano merely reached out to catch hold of the rurouni and hoist him carefully up in his own arms, ignoring his faint protests as Kenshin tried to insist on walking. 

He’d been dead to the world a moment later, curled against Sano’s chest like a child for the rest of the journey back. It was an image Kaoru might have teased him about had she not been so worried about him. 

Now, Kenshin slept peacefully. His shoulder had been carefully realigned and strapped in place by a doctor, and his left arm treated and swathed from elbow to wrist in clean bandaging. Bruises marked his jaw and the line of his cheek, made more distinctive now against the newly clean pallor of his face, fresh enough that Aoshi had surmised he’d received them during his last fight with Yamato. Kaoru wondered if that was supposed to make her feel better; to know it was an injury inflicted more in desperation than from deliberate malice. 

She scowled, and finally pulled the shoji shut behind her to pad across the room, kneeling by the futon to place the tray she carried on the floor as quietly as she could. _Maybe so. But what about the rest? Was there any reason to leave his collar bone untreated? And then there’s what the doctor told us…_ She broke from that line of thought, hands curling into the folds of her kimono as she took a deep breath, focusing on the tray before her. She wasn’t going to let her angry face be the first thing Kenshin saw when he finally surfaced from his long sleep. 

She didn’t realise he was already awake until a slender hand moved to rest lightly on her own, taking hold of clenched fingers to gently ease them straight. She turned, startled, to meet Kenshin’s gaze. Still drowsy, his violet eyes were half-closed, staring up at her with a mixture of warmth and concern. 

“Please don’t, Kaoru-dono.” His voice was faint, but steady. “You’ll ruin your kimono.” 

Her fury died away, replaced by straight relief. “Kenshin! How do you feel?”

He gave her a tiny smile in response, and closed his eyes. For a moment, she thought he’d drifted off once more, and she stretched out a hand to smooth errant bangs away from his face and check his temperature. His skin was clammy, but carried none of the alarming heat of the previous days. 

Kaoru sighed, dropping her hand back to her lap – and nearly jumped when he spoke again. Awake after all. 

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” He hadn’t responded to her question, which was an answer in itself. “We’re at the Aoiya. We brought you here the night before last – your fever only broke this morning. It’s late afternoon now.” She hesitated, and then added almost shyly, “I brought you some food. I – Omasu said I should wake you – I thought you might be hungry—”

He came to her rescue with a wan smile. “Kaoru-dono. I would like that very much.”

She smiled.

\---------

His hair, they’d left down for comfort’s sake; she’d washed the blood from it herself, smoothing out the worst of the tangles to leave it spread across the pillow while Kenshin slept. Now, it was a hindrance, sliding forward across his shoulders to do its best to land in the bowl of soup as he tried to eat. Kaoru bit back a small laugh at the look of chagrin on his face and made an offer which he accepted as graciously as he could, given the circumstances.

She gathered the crimson strands up with both hands and tied them loosely at the nape of his neck. Kenshin took a sharp breath despite her care; the wound behind the hairline was obviously still tender. With his hair back in a semblance of its usual ponytail, she felt an odd relief. It was almost as if the world had taken one more step back to being normal.

He ate the soup and some small portion of the rice without complaint, eating with fair grace despite the sling on his right arm. Kaoru kept her silence until he was done, then reached forward to gently tug the tray away from him and set it aside. 

“Okina-san summoned a doctor for you,” she said. “The good news is that your collar bone should heal without any complications, provided you’re careful. You’ll need to keep it strapped in that sling for a good three weeks, at least.” She didn’t mention what else the doctor had said on the subject – that with the amount of stress inflicted on the injury, Kenshin was extremely lucky that the damage hadn’t been irreparable. It was information, she thought, that Kenshin did not need to know. 

“Good news,” he echoed, and glanced at her shrewdly. “What else?”

Kaoru took a breath before she spoke again, determinedly casual. “He couldn’t confirm how severe it was – he needs to speak with you about it – but the doctor believes you’re suffering the after effects of a serious concussion. It’s not terribly bad news, unless you count being forced to stay in bed a little longer.” He blinked at that; she smiled at him weakly. “You’re not getting up. I won’t let you. I know you’re already suffering from dizziness… and you might find the light hurts your eyes a little. It’s best to just rest for a while.” 

He said nothing; merely watched her face with an odd look. She pressed on stubbornly, schooling her expression to blankness. There was still more she had to tell him. “And the police want to speak with you, once you’re up to it. Apparently Okina-san sent them a message - they arrived at the estate shortly after we left. Bayushi has been arrested. They need to know what… what happened, while you were…” 

_What they did to you._

At the faltering sound of her own words, Kaoru stopped, swallowing as she fought to regain her casual tone. _Idiot! He probably feels bad enough without you making him feel guilty._ She tried again. “They think that—“

“Kaoru-dono,” Kenshin said gently. She let the words die, glancing up to see his careful smile. “I will be all right. Nothing happened that I cannot recover from.” 

“That’s not the point!” she protested. 

“I know.” His voice was soft. “But it does you no good to worry so much. Please. Let it go.”

Her anger flared. “Kenshin, they _hurt_ you! It’s not like it was with Shishio – that was a match you chose to go to, no matter how hard that decision was! At least you went to Mt Hiei on your own two feet! This… you didn’t…” Kaoru fought back the sudden urge to cry. Neither of them would appreciate her tears. “There is no honour in what they did. That man – if he believed in it so much, why did he let them treat you that way?”

“Bayushi-san did nothing, Kaoru-dono. Nor did anyone else… at least, not in the way you’re afraid of.” He was choosing his words with care, his face expressionless as he stared past her. “I was injured only because I was outmatched when I tried to fight back. I would expect that from any enemy, honourable or otherwise.”

_But that’s not entirely true, is it, Kenshin?_ Overlapped by the bandaging and hidden by the sleeve of the oversized yukata that he currently wore, the faded mark of cord on his free wrist - a sign that no matter how hard Kenshin tried to convince her otherwise, things hadn’t been that simple. He would never say as much, and she knew it. Enough was enough.

“You’re always trying to protect us, aren’t you? Even now.” Hands clenching into fists, she glared at him in fury. “Kenshin no _baka!_ ”

His gaze snapped up to meet hers, startled. “Kaoru-dono—“

“I’m not fragile!” she cried. “I’d rather be angry on your behalf, instead of you leaving me wondering what’s so bad that you think you have to keep it from me!”

“There’s nothing to be angry about,” he replied evenly. “Bayushi-san’s grudge was justified, and he treated me well enough, considering the circumstances.”

“Then why didn’t he at least do something about your arm? And what about the people who worked for him?” She took hold of his wrist before he could react, holding it up between them, letting the yukata sleeve fall away. “Who did _this_ to you? Yamato? Senzo? Maybe Yoshida Koujiro?” His eyes widened in surprise at Yoshida’s name. She pressed on before he could interrupt, voice shaking slightly despite her best effort. “Your collar bone is _broken,_ Kenshin. Don’t tell me whoever tied your hands wasn’t intending for you to be hurt by it!”

Kenshin stared at her in silence, violet eyes wide with shock as she stopped and tried to regain her self-control. She knew she was overreacting; so much time spent worrying over him that she couldn’t quite help it now that he was safe, but he didn’t deserve to wear the brunt of her temper. Kaoru bit her lip. She should apologise.

“...forgive me, Kaoru-dono.” The words, delivered in such a subdued tone, took her by surprise. Guiltily, she realised she was still gripping his wrist, and let her fingers drop away. “It wasn’t my intent to slight you, or belittle your strength. I didn’t wish to distress you, and instead I’ve made you angry.”

He was so earnest in his apology, eyes filled with so much worry at her reaction that she smiled. “Of course you have,” she retorted calmly. “But I was angry to begin with, you know. I promised myself I’d hit you when I got to Kyoto.”

He blinked. “Oro?”

The familiar word, long missed, left her with a tight feeling in her throat. She fought it down and fixed him with a mock glare. “Just what possessed you to sneak out of Tokyo in a storm and let some strange merchant drug you anyway?”

“It wasn’t raining when I left.”

“Minor detail,” Kaoru said, giving him a faint smile. “You’re in a lot of trouble. First, you were late back for dinner. You had the nerve to get taken on Tanabata night of all nights; you were stupid enough to leave with some stranger without _telling_ anyone… you… you even lost your sword—”

She swallowed and ducked her gaze from his to stare down at her hands, once more twisting into the folds of her kimono, swimming out of focus as her vision blurred despite her best effort. She _wouldn’t_ cry. She refused to be so childish. Instead, she forced herself to laugh; a small, uneven sound that sounded unconvincing, even to her own ears. Across from her, Kenshin had gone utterly still. She pressed on. “—you made us travel halfway across Japan just so I could tell you what an _idiot_ you are, and… and you got _blood_ on my _tofu bucket--_ ”

And then she broke off as she was pulled gently into an awkward, one-armed embrace, his hand resting lightly on her hair. Her first tears soaked into the shoulder of his yukata.

He smelled of sweat and illness, but it hardly mattered. 

She buried her face in the pale linen, and reached up with one fist to punch him weakly in the arm. 

\---------

“They’re not doing anything they shouldn’t be, are they?”

Yahiko sprang back from the door so fast that he almost tripped over his own feet. He wasn’t sure which was worse – the fact that Sano had managed to sneak up on him, or the look of smug satisfaction on the former gangster’s face as he leaned against the post of the engawa. He flushed. “Sanosuke! I told you to quit doing that!”

Sano grinned at him mockingly, hands in pockets. He jerked his chin toward the room, speaking in a low voice. ”He’s awake, then?”

“Yeah.” 

“About time.” He gave a careless shrug. “Aoshi’s back with news. Kenshin will want to hear it. Might cheer him up a bit.” He moved to open the door, and stopped, taken aback, as Yahiko caught the edge of his sleeve, looking up at him with uncharacteristic seriousness. 

“Later, maybe.”

Sano stared at him levelly for a moment, and then shrugged again, a knowing smile on his face. And to Yahiko’s great chagrin, stretched out a hand to ruffle his hair, ignoring his outraged look. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

Yahiko gave an uncomfortable shrug. The room behind him was silent now, but he had the distinct feeling that opening the door and interrupting the two people inside was not a wise thing to do, at best. Not when the last sound he’d heard had been the soft, muffled sob of his shihandai. 

He turned on his heel and padded away, Sano sauntering alongside. It was the right thing to do, he decided. If Kaoru wanted to act like a… a girl and cry now that everything was okay, then he wasn’t going to lurk outside Kenshin’s door and intrude on that. Yahiko grinned as he reached the kitchen. It was just a shame that nobody would ever compliment him on how mature he was being about the whole thing…

“Oi, Yahiko.” Sano sounded amused. “You gonna stand there grinning like an idiot for long? You’re blocking the doorway.”

Yahiko kicked him in the shins.

\---------

In civilian clothes, casually walking down one of the more deserted streets of Kyoto, he attracted no attention; his uniform had been disposed of two nights ago when it was clear that – upon his departure from Bayushi’s grounds – the police would shortly be searching for him in earnest. Now, he took a leaf from Senzo’s book, dressed in the loose kimono of a merchant, heading for sanctuary in the less wealthy part of town.

_Get up._

When the police raided the estate, they found Bayushi sitting outside the door of his home, staring at the edge of his sword with utter calm. It was thought at first that perhaps he was intending to resist arrest, or contemplating suicide. 

Instead, Bayushi Mitsuharu merely stood, sheathed his sword, and glanced up at them blankly. He made no attempt to stop them from taking the weapon away and allowed them to escort him from his home without comment.

_Our alliance is dissolved._

By the account of the one officer he’d managed to bribe for information, Bayushi had said nothing; at least, not until he’d arrived at the station, sat down and opened his foolish mouth. Then, of course, he’d damned them both. 

On the other hand, Yamato reflected, things could have been far worse. 

_The police will be here soon, I’ve no doubt. It is in your own best interests to be far from here before they arrive._

Bayushi had sold him out; had apparently decided, at some point during his last altercation with Kenshin, to cut all ties with him. He supposed he should be grateful that the old man’s odd sense of honour had given him plenty of warning to make his own escape before the police could arrive. 

It was not the first setback Yamato’s plans had suffered, but it was the most bitter. He knew that he would never be able to get close to Himura Kenshin again. The redhead was currently surrounded by the Oniwabanshu; even when he returned home, he would certainly be on his guard. The chances that he would be taken off guard again were extremely small. 

Then again… with the majority of his men arrested, and the authorities made fully aware of his less than patriotic intentions, his need to remove Battousai from the playing board had been removed in any case, if not his desire. 

He should have had the man shot in Osaka when he had the chance. 

He turned off the street into a small alley, picking his way past discarded rubbish with a faint sneer of distaste to a door half hidden behind a jumble of boxes. A contemptuous place for him to run to, but with the amount of people who must be searching for him, it was the least likely place for them to look. Yamato was not a man without contingencies; he would stay here for a few more days; likely until Battousai left again for Tokyo. The search for him would likely begin to die after that, giving him the chance to leave town without discovery. 

He could start again. It was not impossible.

He entered the darkness and closed the door behind him, placing his pack down on the small table. Food to last him for several days. A pistol to replace the one Kenshin had stolen. Paperwork… there were still stragglers from Shishio’s army; men that he could recruit. He was not without options. 

He was in the process of unpacking his meager collection of belongings when he heard the faint, jarring sound of a match being struck nearby. Yamato froze at the sound; saw the flare of light out of the corner of his eye. 

A police officer, tall and thin and highly amused, eyes reflecting amber against the small flame of the match as he took the time to light his cigarette. Yamato’s blood ran cold. He knew, full well, who was waiting for him here in the dark. His hand reached down, uselessly, for the gun.

Saitou Hajime smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure they'll just sit down and discuss their favourite police laws or some such...
> 
> ...who am I kidding.


	28. A Meeting

For ten minutes, she’d been sitting on the engawa in the sunlight and watching Misao flitter around like a panicked bird. Kaoru sipped her tea, enjoyed the morning warmth and entertained herself with counting how many times the small feet would thunder past as the self-named Okashira checked yet another room. It was amusing, she thought, that someone trained in the art of ninjutsu could fail to grasp what was obvious to everyone else.

On the fourth time round, she took pity. “Misao-chan? Aoshi left early this morning. He went with Kenshin to the station.”

Misao skidded to a halt, with a frustrated look on her face so petulant that Kaoru briefly felt sorry for the object of her affections. “What? Why didn’t he say anything?”

“You were still sleeping,” Kaoru said, offering her a cheerful smile carefully stripped of all amusement. “I’m sure he didn’t want to wake you.” 

But Kenshin had woken _her_ ; rapped softly at the door to get her attention, and told her with a smile that they would return in the afternoon. Sensitive to the amount of worry she’d gone through on his behalf, he was making sure she knew exactly where he would be. She appreciated the thought, even as she felt slightly guilty for his added concern.

“Well, I suppose Himura had to see the police anyway.” Misao dropped grumpily to sit beside her. “I wonder why Aoshi-sama went without me?”

“Maybe he thought you’d be bored,” Kaoru said absently. “You know, Kenshin only has to give them a statement. They’ll probably come home after that. It’s not that exciting.” 

Not entirely true; she knew that given the opportunity to talk to Bayushi, Kenshin would spend much of the day attempting to find a more peaceful resolution between them. The rurouni had recovered well over the past few days with bed rest, even if that rest occasionally had to be enforced; now that he was up to it, they would be returning to Tokyo tomorrow. Today would be his only real chance.

It wasn’t like Aoshi to go with him just for the sake of company. Kaoru assumed that he had business of his own to tend to that didn’t involve Misao. She took another sip of her tea, and kept her thoughts on the matter to herself. 

\---------

He found himself to be surprisingly complacent about his incarceration. When he considered the events that led him to be placed under arrest, he could only conclude that he had nobody to blame but himself. Certainly, he was guilty of kidnapping. He had been a little frightened when the police accused him of being an accessory to treason, but it was a charge they eventually dropped, to his immense relief. Bayushi had apparently been arrested himself and informed them of the full situation. 

He supposed that should function as a lesson to him to question the motivations of his employers before taking on a contract. Of course, that was providing he ever set foot outside of a jail cell again. He had the feeling that his success in kidnapping the legendary Battousai was only going to work against him in that regard. 

Senzo Karanai stretched out on the small bench, gazing up at the ceiling of his cell with a rueful smile. It was truly a shame. The notoriety that he’d have garnered in certain circles for his final contract would have been excellent for business. And now? Even if he managed to regain his freedom, he would be lucky to make a living if he returned to merely selling his silks. 

He’d been here just over a week, curled in a plain-walled cell that he far preferred over the one night of hospitality with Shinomori’s group. Granted, their treatment was nothing to complain about – one of the staff there had even set his wrist for him – but their silence and accusing looks had unnerved him after a while. Far better that he deal with the professional distance and curiosity of the police here; they weren’t personal friends of the rurouni, after all. 

And he was still here, for reasons unexplained. So he lay on his back and hummed tunelessly to pass the time, staring at the darkness above him while he waited for something to change. 

Eventually it did, in the form of the small partition in the door rattling open, and the quiet tones of the officer on duty.

“You have a visitor.”

Senzo blinked. Out of all possibilities, that one was the most unexpected. The ninja had no call to see him again – they’d made it quite clear they wanted nothing more to do with him at all – and Yoshida was hardly going to waltz into the station to wish him well. Before he could question the man further, the partition slammed shut and he heard the sound of the key in the lock. The door’s opening sent a wash of brightness across the room. Unaccustomed in the dim cell, he shielded his eyes against the light as he sat up. 

A moment later, the door clicked shut. Senzo let his hand drop away, peering at the small figure standing quietly across the room as his vision adjusted to the gloom once more. 

His visitor had suffered injury recently, judging by the awkward hang of the dark gi he wore over the sling on his right arm. Senzo took a sharp breath of realization and shied back against the wall before he could stop himself, noting the sword – the sword he’d given to Yoshida, the one that he’d _told_ the idiot to keep away from this man – tied securely at the man’s waist. He willed himself to calm; of all the reasons Himura Kenshin could be visiting him, surely it wouldn’t be for the opportunity to beat him senseless inside a prison cell.

Black eyes met narrowed violet, studying the merchant with level calm as the silence stretched between them. 

Eventually, Kenshin spoke, speech soft in the dim light, edged with faint mockery. "I would assume by your reaction, then, that you no longer find me endearing?”

Senzo gulped. He _had_ said that, hadn’t he? “My apologies, Himura-san. It was a particularly rude thing to say, I agree, but I wasn’t trying to be offens—“

“I am not here for you to try and apologise to me, Senzo,” Kenshin said steadily. “Least of all over something that hardly matters, given your other transgressions.”

The rurouni seemed polite enough; hardly the attitude he’d expect from a man prepared to draw a sword and batter him about the head and shoulders with the blunt edge. Senzo gave a faint smile, the words rolling off his tongue with an echo of his usual dry humour. “Ah, good that we can get straight to the point then, isn’t it? Naturally, if I can assist you in any way I am at your service.”

“Yoshida Koujiro.”

And again, he was surprised. Senzo tilted his head, considering the man before him with puzzlement. Yoshida had hardly touched him. _Why_ …? “I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” he said aloud in careful tones. “I have no idea where he is. I’ve already informed the police of that.”

“I am aware of this.”

“Then…” He trailed off, perplexed. The claim was honest. Yoshida was bright; given the mess that must have greeted the man when he returned on the evening of the attack, he would have retreated into safety past Senzo’s ability to find him in order to draw his own conclusions. Until Yoshida discovered for himself who had attacked and murdered his men, he would not risk showing his face to anyone.

Kenshin met his confusion with a patient look, soft words clarifying his enquiry. “I want to know if he is the type of man who carries a grudge.”

_Ah._ Given the nature of his question, Senzo studied him with sharp eyes, and this time noted the subtle tension in the rurouni’s stance, from the set of his shoulders to the careful curl of his fingers around the edge of his sleeve. Kenshin did not want to be here; would not be, if he didn’t apparently require Senzo’s opinion. _Curious._ _Surely, he’s not nervous?_

Whatever the reason, if Kenshin could hardly stand being in the same room with him, then Senzo’s safety was almost certainly intact. He relaxed. “You know about his fight with the woman and the boy then, I assume. I’m surprised they bothered you with it.”

”That’s not your concern.” Kenshin’s voice was sharp. “Answer my question.” 

By the faint edge to the rurouni’s voice, Senzo would be willing to bet money that Kenshin hadn’t found out the details from either of the combatants involved. He gave a faint smile, his sense of humour fully restored. “Well, I understand that you would be worried. As I owe you a debt, I will answer you this honestly: no. Yoshida is _not_ the type to bear a grudge over an injury.”

Kenshin’s gaze softened. “I see.” 

“However…” Senzo gave an apologetic shrug as the other man shot him a narrow look. “He _is_ the type to address anything he perceives to be a slight. From my understanding of the situation, I believe he feels quite humiliated. I assume from that manly glare of yours it was the woman who struck him?”

The words were out before he could think to control his tongue. Any remaining softness in Kenshin’s expression was gone in an instant, eyes catlike in the gloom. Senzo’s attempted apology stammered into silence under the intensity of that violet gaze. He cursed himself for idiocy; insulting the hitokiri Battousai and implying a threat to those under his protection in the same breath wasn’t one of his better ideas. 

Yet Kenshin didn’t seem minded to retaliate. To the merchant’s surprise, the rurouni merely turned on his heel after a moment and lifted his hand to rap against the door, signaling for the guard. 

That was _it?_

Senzo stared; surely, after all he’d done, there was more to be said? He watched in bewilderment as quiet words were exchanged through the partition, and the door was unlocked once more. It was only as the guard pushed it open to allow Kenshin to leave that he found his voice. 

“Wait!”

Kenshin paused to glance back at him, framed by the brightness of the corridor beyond. 

“Himura-san…” Senzo hesitated, searching for the right words. He was hardly sure why he’d stopped the rurouni in the first place – but somehow, with the surprising abruptness of the man’s visit, he found he couldn’t let Kenshin go. At least, not without an attempt to justify his actions. 

“It was never personal,” he said at last.

“I know,” Kenshin replied softly.

“Ah.” Another response that he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure what to say next. “Well, I’m glad,” he ventured after another moment, hesitant smile resurfacing. “After all, business is business. Had I known what Bayushi-san wanted with you—“

“You would still have sold me to him.” 

With the glare of the light behind him, Kenshin’s expression was unreadable, his face cast into shadow. His words were calm enough; nevertheless, Senzo felt the smallest chill of warning prick along his spine. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench as the rurouni continued. “After all, business is business.”

“Well…” Senzo trailed off at the mocking words, peering at his hands uncertainly. “That is true, but—“

“I wonder,” Kenshin said in quiet tones, “If you will ever begin to fathom how much I despise you.”

Senzo stared in disbelief. _Despise--?_ He gave a nervous laugh. “Come now, isn’t that going a bit far? After all, I am not Yamato. Between that man and Bayushi-san, I’m quite relieved to see that you survived the experience.” 

Kenshin said nothing, standing in the doorway with absolute stillness. Senzo knew he was being studied. He was almost glad he couldn’t see the look on Kenshin’s face, or those accusing eyes. But Kenshin hadn’t turned and left; seemed quite content to listen to what he had to say. It gave him encouragement to continue. “I didn’t lie to you about my own feelings on the matter. I would like to think that if we’d met under other circumstances, we could have quite enjoyed each other’s—“

“We would never have been friends, Senzo.”

“But—”

_“Ever.”_

He shut his mouth, swallowing with sudden difficulty at the flat venom in Kenshin’s voice. 

“Listen to yourself,” the rurouni continued tiredly. ”Despite your apparent liking for me and concern for my welfare, what mattered to you was the money. Is that not so?”

“It’s hardly as if I knew what Bayushi wanted with you!”

“Did you stop to ask? Would you have changed your plans if you did?”

And listening carefully to the edged, velvet way in which Kenshin delivered his words, Senzo had his answer. Of course the rurouni wasn’t nervous about being here. Wary of a caged merchant whose tricks were already known? Unlikely. It wasn’t dread that had him wanting to leave so quickly.

It was contempt.

Senzo looked away.

“As yet, I have no quarrel with Bayushi’s grudge with me,” Kenshin continued. “And Yamato… was a spiteful man, but he at least acted out of a desire to avenge a man he highly revered. This is a motivation I can respect. _You_?” His soft, condemning voice sharpened with cool fury. “You _sold_ me. Just like you have sold others in the past, I’d imagine.”

“Himura-san…” He stopped. Really, there was nothing he could say. 

After a moment, Kenshin spoke again, voice calm and stripped of inflection. “There are words for people who sell human beings.”

“I’m—“ Senzo shot his head up, staring in disbelief as the rurouni finally moved, turning away. “You’re accusing me of—“

“Should you regain your freedom,” Kenshin said in an undertone, “You would do well never to visit Tokyo again.”

“Himura—“

The door clicked shut, taking the bright light and his visitor with it. 

He stared at the door for a very long time, listening to the muted sounds of the corridor long after Kenshin’s sure footsteps had faded away. Then he leaned back to stretch along the bench again, gazing up at the ceiling once more. His smile was absent, humour gone; in the dark of his cell, Senzo Karanai tried to fight off the unfamiliar feeling of guilt.

He sighed. And laughed quietly, though there was no amusement to it.

Shame, really.

\---------

He hadn’t actually been there to see Senzo, to begin with. The police had requested a statement, and he was there to give it. He’d hoped for a last chance to see Bayushi; a vain hope of finding a way to settle things between them without bloodshed. If Kenshin was able to leave for home knowing the older man was more at peace with their shared history, he could at least come out of this whole ordeal with a sense of resolution.

It was unfortunate that things hadn’t turned out that way, but not unexpected. If his farewell to the officer on duty had seemed slightly strained, nobody had commented on it. He smiled faintly and informed them he was returning to Tokyo the next day, and stepped back into the street with a quiet sigh of relief. The summer weather was beautiful. After so long forced to stay indoors, he relished the feel of the sunlight through the thin material of his gi. 

He paused briefly in the street as Aoshi detached himself from a shadowed doorway nearby, then continued on as the taller man fell into step beside him. It seemed odd to be walking through the streets of Kyoto with this man, particularly given Aoshi’s history with him and his reclusive behaviour of late. Yet this morning, Aoshi had calmly stated his intention to accompany Kenshin to the station. Apparently he had business there of his own; Kenshin chose not to pry. _Best_ , he thought wryly, _to leave that to Misao-dono._

“How did it go?”

Kenshin smiled faintly. “Bayushi-san does not wish to speak with me.” 

An understatement. Bayushi had refused to see him. Any change of heart the older man had undergone in regards to his treasonous allegiance with Yamato did not extend to Kenshin himself, regardless of whatever role the rurouni may have played in Bayushi’s decision. Nothing had changed between them; more than a decade of frustrated and bitter grief would not be solved with any amount of words. Truly, Kenshin had expected no less.

_You owe me a death._

At the very end of life, Bayushi would still be cursing his name. He wouldn’t be the only one; there were likely many others in Japan who wished for Battousai’s death just as much. Kenshin would never be able to change that; had come to terms with that knowledge long ago.

_But it never gets any easier, does it?_

They moved on, taking the streets at a slow pace on their way back to the Aoiya. His shoulder still ached, and he moved carefully to compensate for it, Aoshi matching his step without a word of complaint. It would be weeks before he would be able to use his right arm freely; weeks, too, before Kaoru stopped watching him with concern in her eyes, almost as if she was afraid he would vanish if she didn’t keep her eyes on him. It was an expression he wasn’t used to seeing on others, and it warmed him almost as much as it touched him with guilt.

Thankfully, her fears would fade over time – and it wasn’t as if he would have to go through this again. Senzo’s drugged sake was a one-shot trick that he wasn’t likely to forget soon, and the merchant was jailed in any case, as was Bayushi. As for Yamato…

He had his suspicions about Yamato; particularly when he considered Aoshi’s visit to the station this morning.

Kenshin smiled idly as they walked, moving carefully to avoid others on the street. Surrounded by the bustle of market goers at noon, his next words were quiet enough – mild enough – that the only person capable of hearing him was the tall man next to him. 

“I assume Yamato won’t be back?”

Aoshi glanced at him sharply for a brief moment, before returning his gaze to the street ahead. Kenshin walked beside him comfortably, waiting patiently for an answer, nodding a greeting to the family passing him by. 

Aoshi was silent for a long time before answering, his words soft. “Yamato… has been dealt with by the police.”

Kenshin inclined his head briefly in response, his pace never wavering. It wasn’t something he’d wished on the man, despite his malice; but given Yamato’s treasonous intentions so soon after Shishio’s attempts at revolution, he knew it had only been a matter of time before the officer met his end one way or another. As far as Kenshin was aware, Yamato hadn’t been arrested. Had he been quietly killed in an alley somewhere? _I wonder_ , he thought suddenly, _just who it was that killed him?_ It was a question he decided not to ask. 

“Do you regret it?” Aoshi asked, unexpectedly.

He blinked at that, and gave careful thought before answering. “In some small way, I suppose. It is always a shame when the only way to deal with a man like Yamato is execution.” His voice was low. “There are other things that I regret more.”

“You shouldn’t.” Kenshin glanced up at him curiously as Aoshi continued. “Bayushi Mitsuharu spent more than ten years in an impotent attempt to avenge the death of his son. For him to come to any resolution without violence, after such a length of time, would be impossible.” He paused, and then added quietly, “He did not come away from his encounter with you unchanged.”

“True,” Kenshin admitted. “He broke ties with Yamato. That is something to be thankful for.”

“More than that.”

_More?_ Kenshin drew to a stop, glancing across the street at the cheerful woman on the other side. A merchant, selling her wares in an array of glorious blue and violet. 

Flowers. “Aoshi—“

“He called you by name.”

He was confused for a moment. Bayushi had named him from the beginning, hadn’t he? From his very first announcement of his intentions. _I want you dead, Battousai._ But then— Battousai wasn’t his name, was it? A label, a description in one word that befitted his reputation as a merciless killer. He’d heard the name spat in anger from any number of people who came looking for his head, and he would hear it again in the future.

Bayushi had called him _Himura_ , at the end. Certainly, Bayushi’s anger with him, his need for vengeance, had not abated in the slightest. And yet… something had obviously changed. 

_You do a fine job of twisting perceptions, he said—_

_I’ve tired of this now, Himura._

He thought he understood, and with that understanding came a measure of sadness. Bayushi had given him that offering of respect, at the end, an admission that there was far more to Kenshin than his years as a hitokiri in the Bakumatsu. And then ordered him killed, because he _could_ _not_ step away from his desire for vengeance. 

_Does it make a difference?_

Kenshin smiled.

“Misao-dono told me,” he said, “that when you came to the estate, you were holding back.”

Aoshi hesitated, before giving a careful nod. “Mm.”

Kenshin let out a breath, his gaze still on the flower-seller.

His kidnapping had begun with Senzo’s flowers. For Tanabata, for Kaoru; a mark of his care for her, even if he chose to keep his distance. Instead, he had never come home – and certainly, he hadn’t managed to bring home his intended gift.

Kaoru had brought the sakabatou from Tokyo.

His hand settled easily down on the hilt. She’d carried his sword across the country, and belted it at her own waist when she scaled the walls of Bayushi’s estate with the intended purpose of bringing it back to his hand. She had even, according to Misao, challenged Aoshi for the right to do so. 

He knew what that meant, far beyond the simple act of bringing a valued possession back to him. Kenshin’s smile widened. Senzo’s flowers were a work of art. But in the end…

In the end, he suspected she would prefer the real thing.

“Thank you,” he said quietly to Aoshi. “For everything.”

And then he crossed the street. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the story proper! Chapter 29 will just be the longass omake I wrote roasting this fic when it was first published.
> 
> You might note that Yoshida vanished from the story-- he unfortunately got streamlined out when I streamlined the plot so it didn't get too clunky at the end, but originally he was definitely going to find Kaoru again once his hand was healed, and I was originally all set to write a small sequel in which he does just that. It fell by the wayside, and honestly, if you look at the timing for this, Yoshida would probably rock back up in Tokyo just in time for Kaoru's Jinchuu "funeral", be annoyed he never got his rematch, and flounce off. 
> 
> (If I ever do get around to this sequel, which is highly unlikely but you never know, well. I'll deal with it then. But until then! I hope you enjoyed my first ever published fanfic from back in 04/05. It seems to have dated reasonably well. I hope.)


	29. Omake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written just as fun but IIRC I was sick like. The whole time. So the humour of it is questionable. BUT ANYWAY.

**Kenshin** : I think this author missed the memo. Assassin of the revolution, fastest battoujutsu master in the west? Er, east? So where’s my sword?

**Yoshida** : Yoink!

**Kenshin** : … I’m so going to smack you down for that if we have a sequel.

**Senzo** : There’s a sequel now? Am I in it?

**Kenshin** : In a jailed, flashback kinda way, sure.

**Kaoru** : Much as I really shouldn’t be the voice of reason, this isn’t how the story started, you know.

**Kenshin** : Hai, Kaoru-dono, but it started with you trying to cook, and we all know—

**Kaoru** : _DON’T_ say it. -brandishes bokken- And bring me my tofu!

**Kenshin** : Eek! Hai, Kaoru-dono! -scurries off and never returns-

**Sano** : I’ll do the gallant thing and go look for him.

**Yahiko** : Don’t be stupid. This is Kenshin we’re talking about. It’s not like he’d accept candy from strangers or anything…

**Senzo** : Sake?

**Kenshin** : Please!

**Senzo** : … that was easy.

**Yoshida** : _Now_ can I say ‘yoink’?

**Senzo** : Not until you’ve chased him dramatically through the pouring rain and given the author a good excuse to leave all that pretty red hair down for the rest of the story. 

**Yoshida** : Psh. Fangirls.

\---------

**Sano** : Well, your options are either that he ran away, or he’s in a lot of trouble with bad guys.

**Kaoru** : I can’t think of a single reason for him to run away on Tanabata night when I’m cooking. Look, let’s ask that innocent merchant who lives in the woods.

**Senzo** : Hello, innocent merchant at your service. There are absolutely no redheaded samurai around here, particularly not snoring on a futon on the other side of this carefully closed door.

**Kaoru** : Okay. -leaves-

**Senzo** : … that _worked?_

**Sano** : I can’t believe it, either. 

**Kaoru** : Oh, shut up. Just for that, I’m going to delay you pounding answers out of Senzo by twisting my ankle.

**Sano** : Seeing as you oh-so-conveniently fell next to the tree Kenshin nearly got skewered on, I’ll forgive you.

**Kaoru** : Well, at least by the discovery of his hair tie we now know something very important.

**Sano** : His pretty red hair is down?

**Kaoru** : …you sure there’s not something you’re keeping from us?

**Sano** : Not in _this_ fic. So what’s the plan now?

**Kaoru** : How about I go home and give Yahiko a massive guilt trip while you go back to the innocent merchant for the predictable confrontation and ambush?

**Sano** : Deal.

**Senzo** : You forgot to mention the predictable ‘run away while you get stabbed’ bit…

**Sano** : I _hate_ you.

\-------

**Yoshida** : Whee! -skips through the marketplace- I have a sword! 

**Yahiko** : Yoink!

**Yoshida** : Hey, that’s my line! Wonder if strangling a kid puts this past a PG rating?

**Yahiko** : Oh, well, guess I had the spotlight for a couple of pages. Kaoru! Tag, you’re it!

**Kaoru** : Hyaaah! Eat splintered bokken!

**Yoshida** : -runs off crying-

**Yahiko** : NOW we can go get Kenshin! The guy's nothing without his sword after all!

**Kenshin** : Do you _mind?_

\--------

**Kenshin** : Mental note to self – learn to hold alcohol. Mind telling me where my gi has gone?

**Senzo** : Had to take it for medicinal purposes.

**Kenshin** : …any reason I couldn’t have had it back afterward?

**Senzo** : None that I can think of. Oh, your sandals are gone, too. For uh… orthopaedic purposes.

**Kenshin** : …I think there’s a fangirl at work here somewhere…

**Senzo** : Actually, I discovered this thing called E-Bay.

**Kenshin** : You’re _selling_ my _clothes?_

**Senzo** : Don’t get tetchy! Anyway, you’re nothing without your sword.

**Kenshin** : Eesh, each and every person … well, this chair leg says otherwise!

**Senzo** : EEK! -crumple-

**Yoshida** : Give up! You’re nothing without--

**Kenshin** : Oh, shut up. Scuse me while I make an impossible-but-dramatic leap off your ship to safety.

**Yoshida** : How come nobody else can do that?

**Yamato** : He’s the hero. Overwhelming odds and ridiculous breakage of the laws of physics are his specialty.

**Kenshin** : Oh yeah? How come _you_ get to smack me in the head with a rifle, then?

**Yamato** : Because I’m the new character being established as the villain everyone loves to hate.

**Kenshin**. Oh. Darn. -falls-

\---------

**Senzo** : Well, that was a job well done. I have my money, what could possibly go wrong? Hmm, horoscope reads “You will be rescued by a tall, dark and handsome man.” … ew.

**Goons** : KILL!

**Senzo** : EEK! Curse Yamato’s sudden yet inevitable betrayal! 

**Aoshi** : Well, I suppose I’ll save you.

**Senzo** : My hero!

**Aoshi** : Where is Himura Battousai?

**Senzo** : ...do you always begin conversations this way?

**Aoshi** : Pretty much.

**Senzo** : Huh. Well, I uh… don’t know.

**Okina** : I have a tray of nasty pointy things.

**Senzo** : Oh, you mean _that_ Battousai. Here, I’ll give you directions.

\---------

**Bayushi** : How come my deep and meaningful conversation was skipped?

**Kenshin** : We already covered that at the bottom of Chapter 20.

**Bayushi** : Oh. Well… that was yesterday. I’m going to kill you again.

**Kenshin** : No you’re not.

**Bayushi** : Why not _this_ time?

**Kenshin** : Because my friends won’t get here for another half an hour, and it won’t nearly be dramatic enough.

**Bayushi** : Oh, good call. -leaves-

**Yamato** : Bad call! Get back in there and kill him! 

**Bayushi** : But I haven’t had my dark and brooding moments alone!

**Yamato** : Fine, I’ll do it.

**Kenshin** : Geez, can’t I finish my rice first? 

**Yamato** : No. I’m evil like that.

**Kenshin**. You sure are. The audience is just gonna love it when _you_ die off.

**Yamato** : Pft. I won’t die. 

**Kenshin** : Will too.

**Yamato** : This gun says otherwise. Besides, you’re nothing without your sword.

**Kenshin** : Oh, for— _what is it_ with you people!? Where does it say I can’t be good with my hands?

**Yamato** : I’m going to pretend there’s no double meaning to that. Die, Battousai!

**Kenshin** : Shan’t. Try the rice, it’s delicious.

**Yamato** : Ow!

**Kenshin** : Want some water to go with that?

**Yamato** : -falls-

**Kenshin:** Strange, think I hear the sound of cheering from somewhere.

\---------

**Misao** : Hah! The guards have fallen for my cunning plan! Now that I’ve lured them out with my clever distraction, Kenshin has a clear run to freedom!

**Aoshi** : …

**Misao** : Shut up.

**Kaoru** : Ack! Gunshots!

**Sano** : This calls for a swift entrance! … after you, brat.

**Yahiko** : That’s the second wall I’ve been thrown at this story.

**Sano** : It’s screen time, isn’t it?

**Yahiko** : Point.

**Kaoru** : Is it just me or did it get awfully chaotic all of a sudden?

**Sano** : Actually, if you listen real hard you can probably hear the author sobbing.

\---------

**Kenshin** : Sneak, sneak, sneak. 

**Guard** : No point sneaking when you smell of blood, you know.

**Kenshin** : Nine days without a bath and you think it’s the blood you can smell?

**Guard** : I wasn’t gonna go there.

**Kenshin** : No-one else did either. Oh yeah: BOO!

**Guard** : Gasp! You’re Battousai!

**Kenshin** : No, I’m some other half-naked guy with long red hair and a cross scar. Nice to meet you, gotta run.

**Sano** : Kenshinnnnn! Here, boy!

**Kenshin** : If I wasn’t being monkeypiled by a lynch mob right now, I’d slap him for that. Gah… medic?

**Misao** : Don’t worry! I’ll save you!

**Kenshin** : And thus the last shreds of my pride are stripped away by genki rescue.

**Sano** : You think that’s bad, just wait until I have to carry you home.

**Kenshin** : Ick, you’re right. Any chance we can have a dramatic showdown with the enemy so I can get some of my self-respect back before then?

**Guards** : Stop or we’ll shoot!

**Kenshin** : Thank you.

\---------

**Bayushi** : Okay. _Now_ I’m going to kill you.

**Kenshin** : _No_ , you’re _not._

**Bayushi** : This again! I’m beginning to suspect you’re delaying me from killing you on purpose.

**Kenshin** : Can’t think why.

**Bayushi** : Well, your clever words won’t work this time! There is nothing you can say to deter me from killing you!

**Kenshin** : How about the words ‘honourless’ and ‘scumbag’?

**Bayushi** : ...okay, you might delay me a bit. 

**Kenshin** : In light of the fact that the two of us attempting to have a duel in our condition would be just plain laughable, want to call each other names instead?

**Bayushi** : Sure. 

**Kaoru** : Did we just get reduced to the peanut gallery again?

**Sano** : With three seasons of anime, you should be used to that by now.

**Aoshi** : Speak for yourself. Fear my ninja math skills!

**Misao** : You know, if you count my mistake a little earlier, this is actually the third time I’ve saved Kenshin’s ass in the last hour.

**Kenshin** : And let us never speak of it again.

\--------

**Kenshin** : Well, now all is said and done, I’ve decided to drop by and tell you how much you suck.

**Senzo** : What? Just because I lied to you, drugged you, had my evil minions break your collarbone, drugged you again, locked you in a dark room for days then sold you to your enemies, you’re going to sulk?

**Kenshin** : You forgot the general insults, playful threats and sword stealing, not to mention your livelihood comes awfully close to an activity that strikes a chord with my angst-ridden past.

**Senzo** : Pfft. Baby.

**Kenshin** : Well, I’m a better man than you. I won’t hold it against you.

**Senzo** : I got twelve thousand for your sandals.

**Kenshin** : Changed my mind. Rot in hell! 

\---------

**Aoshi** : So, how do you feel?

**Kenshin** : Like some rabid fangirl came up with an intricate plot just so she could strip me half naked for twenty chapters.

**Aoshi** : Don’t forget how she got all your pretty red hair down.

**Kenshin** : That seems to happen more often than not in stories these days… 

**Aoshi** : Well, it’s over now. Not like you have to go through this again, right?

**Kenshin** : Not unless I go on another tofu run. Funny, that white-haired lunatic in the glasses over there seems to be giggling insanely at me.

**Aoshi** : Eh, ignore him. What would he know?

**Kenshin** : Point. -checks manga script- Let’s just go home and get ready for Jinchuu. Huh. Wonder what that’s about…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines shamelessly lifted in places from such works of art as Princess Bride and Firefly. Have a good year, guys. Don’t hurt me. My sense of humour is twisted.


End file.
